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"  Hurry  up -there,  Bill!  "     Page  33. 


Daniel  Trentworthy. 


A  TALE  OF  THE  GREAT  FIRE  OF  CHICAGO, 


BY    JOHN    McGOVERN, 

AUTHOR  OF  "BURRITT  DURAND,"    "GEOFFREY  VAN   LIEB,"1  BTO. 


CHICAGO: 

RAND,  MCNALLY  &  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS, 

148,   150,   152  AND  154  MONROE  STREET;    and 
323  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK. 

1  889. 


COPYRIGHT,  1887,  BY  JOHN  MCGOVERN. 
All   rights   reserved. 


COPYRIGHT,  1888,   BY  JOHN  McGovKRN. 

All   rights    reserved. 


DANIEL  TRENTWOBTHY. 


PROLOGUE. 

HUMAN  history  must  deal  with  human  interest.  Events 
thought  to  be  unimportant  in  their  day  may  tower  up  with 
the  ages — as  the  death  of  Shakespeare.  Events  great  as  a 
royal  marriage  may  be  buried  as  deeply  in  a  library  as  they 
could  be  inhumed  in  oblivion  ;  for  what  is  oblivion  but  lack 
of  interest  by  the  living  ?  All  is  for  the  living;  nothing  for 
the  dead. 

Let  us  then  deal  candidly  with  events,  subjectively  as  to 
their  merits,  objectively  as  to  the  interest  they  arouse,  at 
once  and  forever.  By  that  means  we  may  perhaps  claim 
that  in  three  centuries  there  have  been  but  three  events  in 
the  first  class  of  human  interest — namely : 

Seventeenth  century,  the  works  and  death  of  Shakespeare. 

Eighteenth  century,  the  French  Revolution. 

Nineteenth  century,  the  destruction  of  Chicago. 

I  shall  tell  a  simple  tale  of  the  nineteenth  century  which 
may  hold  the  reader's  attention  because  of  the  august  pres- 
ence of  a  kingly  event.  I  shall  ask  the  man  of  keen  sym- 
pathy and  sound  imagination  to  pass  through  days  that  must 
seem  longer  than  days.  To  a  spectacle  from  which  men  will 
never  turn  away,  I  shall  try  to  give  the  color  it  had  in  its 


6  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

own  age ;  yet,  like  Shakespeare,  it  was  not  for  an  age,  but  for 
all  time. 

Madame  de  Sevigne  made  herself  famous  by  writing  a 
short  letter:  "I  am  going  to  tell  you,"  said  she,  "a  thing 
the  most  astonishing,  the  most  surprising,  the  most  marvel- 
ous, the  most  miraculous,  the  most  magnificent,  the  most 
confounding,  the  most  unheard  of,  the  most  singular,  the 
most  extraordinary,  the  most  incredible,  the  most  unforeseen 
— the  greatest,  the  rarest,  the  most  common,  the  most  public, 
the  most  private,  and  the  most  brilliant ;  in  short,  a  thing 
of  which  there  is  but  one  example  in  past  ages,  and  that  not 
an  exact  one,  either  ;  a  thing  that  we  cannot  believe  in  Paris 
— how,  then,  will  it  gain  credit  in  Lyons  ?" 

And  what  was  it  that  this  clever  woman  told  ?  Only  the 
engagement  of  marriage  between  a  princess  and  a  nobleman  ! 
She  thundered  in  her  index,  and  gained  an  immortality  not 
altogether  to  be  despised. 

Can  there  be  any  prologue  whatever  for  that  chronicler 
who,  having  the  Event  of  October,  1871,  for  his  theme,  ad- 
dresses a  human  interest  that  grows  only  the  keener  as  de- 
cade after  decade  laps  and  whispers  on  the  beach  of  time  ? 


CHAPTER  I. 

JOHN    TRENTWOKTHT. 

THE  Bank  of  El  Dorado  had  a  capital  of  ten  millions.  No 
depositor  trifled  with  the  time  of  the  institution  who  could 
not  draw  his  check  for  $50,000.  No  stock  company  hoped 
to  have  the  confidence  of  the  Pacific  slope  if  it  had  not 
secured  the  permission  of  the  officers  of  the  Bank  of  El 
Dorado  to  -refer  'to  them.  •/ 


JOHN  TRENTWORTHY.  7 

The  directors  of  the  bank  were  men  of  unlimited  means ; 
and  by  "  means  "  they  meant  gold  coins,  for  the  greenbacks 
of  the  United  States  had  never  seemed  quite  good  enough 
for  the  Bank  of  El  Dorado.  They  might  be  good,  and  again 
they  might  not.  Gold  would  be  good.  No  one  doubted 
that. 

Not  only  had  the  Bank  of  El  Dorado  unlimited  means,  but 
it  had  a  man.  "Arms  and  the  man,  I  sing,"  said  the  poet. 
"  Gold  and  the  man,"  sang  the  lauders  of  the  Bank  of  El 
Dorado.  Gold  was  very  well,  but  a  financier  was  even 
better. 

John  Trentworthy  was  the  financier. 

Men  said  he  was  Midas.  Whatever  he  touched  turned  to 
gold. 

"  I  am  more  fortunate  than  Midas,"  he  would  reply.  "  I 
do  not  have  to  eat  gold." 

Is  it  not  an  extraordinary  thing  to  be  pivoted  in  the  cen- 
ter of  confidence  ?  Round  about  John  Trentworthy  clustered 
fifty  millionaires,  each  dreaming  of  the  happy  moment  when 
Trentworthy  would  start  from  some  reverie  and  say  :  "  My 
boy,  I  can  use  three  or  four  and  turn  it  over  in  sixty  days." 

"Three  or  four"  meant  millions.  The  more  it  meant  the 
more  gleefully  did  the  lending  millionaire  seek  his  down  pil- 
low that  night. 

A  Niagara  of  molten  gold  was  thundering  over  a  precipice 
into  an  abyss  of  credit.  In  a  frail  bark,  plying  between  two 
crags,  John  Trentworthy  would  carry  such  of  the  imploring 
millionaires  as  his  fancy  prompted  him  to  favor.  They 
shivered  in  agony  as  they  looked  up  at  the  flood,  but  they 
were  the  envy  of  the  craving  host  back  on  the  hither  crag. 

"  He'll  go  down  yet,"  the  millionaire  would  say  as  he  saw 
John  Trentworthy  land  a  rival  millionaire  safely  with  an 
added  fortune.  "  He'll  go  down  yet." 

But  that  was  because  the  disappointed  millionaire  had  not 
himself  been  taken  across  the  abyss. 


8  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHT. 

Is  it  not  an  awful  problem  this — "  How  shall  I  make 
money  ?  "  Thus  our  disappointed  millionaire  has  but  five 
millions.  He  sits  down,  writes  a  little  on  paper,  and  presto  ! 
he  is  a  poor  man  !  Ah  !  may  God  forgive  him  ;  his  wife  must 
dismiss  her  servants  and  do  her  own  housework  ;  his  children 
must  clamor  for  the  advantages  that  other  children  have  ; 
there  will  be  no  travel,  and  there  will  be  the  nethermost  pit 
of  impatience  where  one  man  with  infinite  faculties  must 
attempt  to  please  another  man  with  infinite  faculties. 

No,  no ;  it  is  a  dream.  The  millionaire  has  not  written 
on  the  paper.  He  is  safe  !  But  is  it  any  wonder  that  cold 
sweat  stands  out  upon  his  brow  ? 

John  Trentworthy  sits  down  and  writes  a  few  words  on 
paper.  Five  millionaires  have  given  him  a  million  apiece. 
Presto  !  it  is  ten  millions.  Is  it.  not  easy? 

Ay,  that  it  is,  if  only  John  Trentworthy  be  the  man  who 
does  it.  Still  the  millionaire  who  carries  his  bags  of  gold  to 
John  Trentworthy  must  have  pangs  and  terrors.  The  wa\Ts 
of  the  magician  are  not  the  ways  of  the  meek-spirited  million- 
aires. Everything  he  does  outside  of  his  money-making 
frightens  the  rich  men  and  amazes  the  populace.  Hence, 
perhaps,  a  portion  of  his  financial  power. 

He  learns  how  far  a  man  may  drive  the  fastest  trotters. 
At  the  end  of  that  measured  line  he  erects  a  palace.  There 
he  keeps  a  room  and  a  plate  ready  for  each  of  sixty  guests, 
whether  one  or  none  or  sixty  be  present,  If  a  king  or  an 
ambassador,  a  head  man  in  the  Orient  or  a  fashionable  states- 
man of  the  Occident,  be  at  the  Golden  Gate,  the  Golden 
Gate  opens  only  to  the  hospitable  doors  of  John  Trent- 
worthy's  palace. 

From  the  palace  to  the  city  there  stretches,  as  the  crow 
flies,  a  costly  drive — "an  incredible  drive,"  said  all  previous 
horse-owners.  And  daily  does  this  strange  man  ooze 
the  excitement  out  of  his  body  through  the  ribbons  that 
hold  his  flying  steeds  to  their  swift  gait.  Perhaps  that 


JOHN  TBENTWORTHY.  9 

vent    gives   him   his   coolness   when    he   handles   millions. 

In  every  part  of  the  world  the  voices  of  the  noble,  the 
glorious,  and  the  fortunate  go  up  in  recital  of  the  wonders 
seen  at  John  Trentworthy's  palace.  And  all  these  stories, 
while  they  may  vary  as  to  the  things  seen,  end  with  the  same 
averment.  The  most  wonderful  of  all  the  wonders  was  the 
man  who  closed  his  eyes  and  saw  millions  which  the  greedi- 
est people  on  earth  had  not  before  espied ;  the  man  who 
drove  fifteen  leagues  to  his  daily  business  ;  the  man  whose 
word  was  law  at  the  Bank  of  El  Dorado,  at  London  and  at 
Vienna. 

"  I  wish  we  had  him  here,"  said  each  of  the  Rothschilds. 

"  Commerce  is  developing  wonderful  financial  genius," 
said  the  Barings. 

But  the  poor  millionaires  at  the  Golden  Gate  were  too 
near  their  man.  They  would  have  felt  easier  had  he  lived 
in  a  small  back  room  and  done  nothing  else  save  close  his 
eyes  and  see  millions  for  the  big  four,  or  the  big  eight,  or 
the  big  sixteen. 

Speculation — it  is  a  strange  word.  "  Thou  hast  no  specu- 
lation in  those  eyes,"  cries  the  wretched  Macbeth.  Specula- 
tion— sight — to  see — to  see  where  it  is  cot,  but  will  be. 
And  perhaps  not  to  be  at  all.  Thus,  speculation — to  see 
what  others  will  deem  probable.  Thus,  a  town  may  be  a 
city.  To  see  that  first  is  a  fortune.  The  town  may  never 
reach  a  city's  dignity.  To  see  that  last  is  ruin. 

The  millionaires  peered.  But  there  was  no  speculation  in 
their  eyes.  They  must  have  the  terrifying  John  Trent- 
worthy  to  see  for  them — John  Trentworthy  the  greatest 
speculator  in  the  history  of  finance. 


10  UANIEL  TREUT  WORTHY. 


CHAPTER    II. 

BAD    FOB  DANIEL  TREXTWOBTHY. 

OXE  memorable  week  the  owner  of  the  palace  has  eaten 
with  an  especially  large  crowd  of  mandarins,  duke.=,  princes, 
sergeants,  kings,  poets,  and  statesmen.  He  has  driveu  in 
from  the  palace  in  a  road  time  unprecedented.  He  has 
crossed  under  theinolten  flood  in  the  cockle-shell  of  his  credit 
with  an  unusually  large  number  of  trembling  millionaires. 
He  has  heard  a  chorus  of  prophecies  from  the  stupid  ar.d  the 
disappointed — all  to  the  effect  that  he  will  go  down. 

"Mr.  Trentworthy,  you  seem  more  than  commonly  ex- 
cited, or  absent-minded,"  a  favored  friend  would  say — some 
expert  judge  of  a  horse. 

Generally  a  close  student  of  men  appreciates  a  student  of 
some  excellent  animals. 

"  Yes,"  Trentworthy  would  smile.  "  I  have  had  news 
that  my  son  is  doing  well  at  Harvard  College.'"' 

For  John  Trentworthy  had  a  son,  a  lad  with  perhaps  the 
most  enviable  prospects  of  any  young  man  in  America.  He 
was  thoughtful,  handsome,  amiable,  and  ambitious  to  learn. 
It  was  expected  that  he  would  graduate  from  Harvard  at  an 
age  which  would  permit  him  to  take  a  course  at  a  foreign 
university.  Bonn  would  be  super  added  to  Harvard.  Travel 
and  the  best  of  society  would  fit  him  for  the  close  compan- 
ionship and  confidence  of  the  magician  at  the  Golden  Gate. 

Can  we  blame  the  poor  young  men  at  Harvard  that  they 
looked  upon  this  heir  of  all  good  things,  and  questioned : 
"  Why  is  it  not  so  with  us  ?  " 

Yet,  so  envious  is  man,  the  comrades  of  young  Danie! 
Trentwortby  had  all  that  he  had,  except  expectations.  For 


BAD  FOll  DANIEL  TRENTWORTBY.  H 

the  magician  at  the  Golden  Gate  had  often  said  that  there 
was  but  one  way  to  make  a  man,  and  that  was  by  hard 
knocks.  To  spare  his  only  son- — to  make  him  soft  and  ef- 
feminate— would  be  to  leave  John  Trentworthy  without  a 
successor.  At  the  father's  knee  the  boy  heard  this  gospel  of 
toil  and  attrition.  At  college  the  faculty  preached  it  from 
constant  and  anxious  letters  they  had  received. 

Daniel  Trentworthy's  comrades  did  not  covet  his  brains, 
his  good  nature,  or  his  quiet  spirit.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it 
came  about  that  he  had  nothing  else  they  really  wanted,  for, 
one  day,  the  president  called  the  lad  into  a  private  room. 

"Mr.  Trentworthy,"  the  president  said,  as  he  glanced  at  a 
dispatch,  "  have  you  received  any  news  from  home  to-day?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  the  lad,  growing  uneasy. 

"  Then  it  is  my  sad  duty  to  say  to  you  that  your  father  is 
dead." 

"  Is  that  so?  "  said  the  lad,  mechanically,  all  his  words,  and 
all  his  thoughts,  and  all  his  blood  coursing  in  a  strange  way 
through  his  body. 

u  Yes  :  my  dispatch  puzzles  me.  It  reads :  '  Tell  Trent- 
worthy  Bank  of  El  Dorado  closed,  and  John  Trentworthy 
dead.  Directors.' " 

"  My  dear  boy,  have  you  no  other  relatives  at  home  ?  " 

"None,"  said  the  boy,  with  a  swallowing  sound. 

"Well,  well,  well,"  said  the  kind  old  scholar.  "Leave  it  to 
me,  and  I  will  ascertain  the  particulars  by  telegraph." 

Now  this  had  happened  :  A  depositor,  having  need  of  a 
few  hundred  thousands,  drew  a  check  for  the  amount  on  the 
Bank  of  El  Dorado — a  trifling  matter.  How  handy  are 
these  banks !  You  draw  your  check  ;  that  suffices  ;  your  cred- 
itor is  paid. 

The  cheek  was  presented.  It  was  not  paid.  What  was 
the  matter  with  the  check  ?  Nothing.  What  was  the  matter 
with  the  bank  of  El  Dorado?  Ah  !  there  you  reach  it ! 

Now,  imagine  such.a  thing.     No  money  in  a  bank  wit-h-feen. 


12  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

millions.     No  money  in  John  Trent  worthy's  bank — and  he — 

How  many  thousand  people  stand  in  that  cross-like  crowd 
in  the  streets  ?  Enough  to  lift  up  that  stone  structure,  if 
they  could  get  hands  on,  as  Ramesis  made  the  children  of 
Israel  catch  hold  of  the  obelisks.  It  is  truly  an  angry 
crowd.  Plenty  of  Argonauts  there.  Dukes,  royal  drivers, 
palaces — magic  !  It  fills  the  host  with  a  demoniac  sarcasm. 
Where  is  this  magician  ? 

Truly,  where  is  he?  he  has  driven  his  leagues  to-day,  as 
usual,  for  the  hostlers  have  scraped  his  steeds.  He  bathes 
every  day,  for  his  health  is  of  prime  importance — or  was. 
Perhaps  he  is  at  the  bathing  place. 

Yes,  he  has  gone  down  into  the  water.  They  will  follow 
him.  They  want  his  life — that  which  they  deemed  the 
glory  of  the  coast  but  yesterday. 

But  they  cannot  get  his  life.  It  was  too  proud  to  wait 
for  them  and  their  impotent  wrath.  John  Trentworthy  is 
drowned. 

He  has  gone  down  under  the  molten  flood,  before  the  very 
eyes  of  the  millionaires  who  would  so  gladly  have  sat  with 
him  in  his  cockle-shell.  It  gives  the  little  groups  on  the 
hither  and  thither  crags  a  shock  that  brings  them  to  their 
senses.  Speculation  comes  to  an  end. 

Now  the  Bank  of  El  Dorado  is  greater  than  any  magician 
after  all.  The  honor  of  fifty  millionaires  is  a  very  sub- 
stantial financial  fabric.  The  Bank  of  El  Dorado  opens  the 
moment  the  dead  body  of  John  Trentworthy  has  been  found. 

But  they  are  a  sorry  lot  of  mourners.  They  mourn  their 
gold — millions  of  it.  Anything  that  John  Trentworthy  had 
is  the  bank's — theirs.  Strange  that  they  could  not  see 
through  his  magic — so  they  say  now. 

And  yet  John  Trentworthy  had  simply  lost  in  a  game 
where  one  must  win  all  the  time. 

They  telegraphed  to  Harvard  :  "  Tell  young  Trentworthy 
that  his  father  dies  a  debtor  to  the  bank  of  El  Dorado  for 


BAD  FOE  DANIEL  TRENT  WOliTUT.  13 

millions.  We  have  taken  possession  of  everything.  We 
fear  the  young  man  will  be  left  without  support." 

They  did  not  fear  it,  they  knew  it,  but  one  of  the  most 
knowing  of  the  stupids  said  it  would  be  much  better  to  say 
"  fear."  It  was.  They  pitied  the  boy.  But  think  how  sad 
they  were  !  Think  how  they  pitied  themselves  ! 

"  My  son,"  said  the  president  of  the  college,  "  I  cannot 
express  my  sorrow  for  you.  I  have  never  seen  great  ex- 
pectations swept  away  so  suddenly  or  so  completely,  although 
the  same  kind  of  misfortune  has  often  visited  us  here.  You 
are  left  without  money,  and  I  believe  your  father's  creditors 
mean  to  deny  you  to  the  last  cent." 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?  "  asked  the  young  man. 

"  In  the  present  state  of  public  feeling  you  would  not  want 
to  go  to  San  Francisco.  You  can  earn  your  own  living,  can 
you  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

No  young  man  ever  doubts  this.  It  is  strange  that  nothing 
but  experience  will  teach  a  man  that  life  is  hard. 

"I  think  you  had  better  seek  some  thriving  Western  city. 
Are  you  favorably  impressed  with  Chicago  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  will  go  there." 

"I  have  personal  influence  which  may  aid  you  in  getting 
a  foothold ;  I  cannot  tell  you  how  glad  I  shall  be  to  put  it  at 
your  service.  I  hear  there  is  no  place  in  the  West  where 
there  is  so  good  an  opening  for  a  young  man.  Wait  here  till 
the  year  is  out." 

"  No,"  said  the  young  man,  "  I  will  go  at  once." 

How  could  he  stay  and  face  the  scornful  pity  of  the  other 
young  men  whose  fathers  would  not  fail  until  the  next  panic, 
or  those  others  whose  fathers  would  never  fail  at  all  ? 

So  he  took  the  letters  of  the  kind  old  president  and  rode 
toward  Chicago.  The  city  filled  him  with  curiosity.  That 
is,  the  gathering  of  metropolitan  forces  at  Chicago  had  been 
so  sudden  as  to  become  the  talk  of  the  world.  The  real 


14  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

estate  speculators  had  concocted  a  glowing  scheme.  The 
star  of  empire  had  itself  moved  in  the  very  zodiac  of  their 
scheme.  What  they  had  expected  to  make  the  world  believe 
through  the  power  of  their  enthusiasm,  the  world  was  forced 
to  accept  as  fact  through  the  imperious  caprice  of  a  nation's 
commerce.  If  Daniel  Treiitworthy  picked  up  a  newspaper 
his  eye  rested  on  some  tale  of  Chicago,  and  that  tale  was 
sure  to  be  the  most  wonderful  thing  in  the  day's  news.  Men 
loved  to  read  of  the  gold-diggers  of  the  winter  of  ?49  and 
spring  of  '50.  But  there  was  not  enough  of  those  chronicles. 
Here,  however,  at  Chicago,  there  was  a  wonderland  that 
crowded  the  rest  of  the  world  out  of  the  columns  of  the  daily 
press. 

The  war  was  over.  The  boom  was  on.  Real  estate  was 
held  at  the  prices  which  it  brings  to-day,  in  1887,  when  the 
city  has  800,000  souls.  It  was  the  metropolis  of  Lincoln's 
State  ;  therefore  when  the  body  of  the  martyr  lay  on  its  cata- 
falque, in  the  Court  House,  all  the  Northwest  came  to  hold 
the  hand  of  Illinois  as  she  sobbed  over  the  greatest  of  the 
Western  dead.  The  tomb  of  Douglas  was  here  ;  therefore 
Andrew  Johnson  swung  around  the  circle  and  saw  with  his 
own  eyes.  Here  were  gathered  the  adventurous,  the  enthu- 
siastic, the  crowded-out  of  the  whole  world.  And  they  con- 
tinued to  do  wonderful  things.  They  set  great  brick  palaces 
on  jack-screws  ;  they  tunneled  two  miles  under  the  lake  for 
water  that  a  dozen  generations  might  drink  ;  they  fathomed 
the  descent  of  their  river,  and  set  at  work  to  turn  its  flow 
backward.  They  raffled  away  their  opera  house,  and  a  new 
owner  came  riding  on  his  horse  out  of  the  West.  And  to 
this  day  that  opera  house  has  hardly  been  equaled  for  its 
qualities  as  an  auditorium  where  the  rich  and  the  poor  could 
alike  hear  and  sec  with  ease. 

Even  the  murderers  and  the  suicides  rose  to  the  spirit  of 
public  performance  that  was  on  the  inhabitants.  The  bar- 
ber packed  his  wife's  body  in.  a  cask,  and  became  the  pro'to- 


JiAD  FOR  DAX1EL  TRENTWORTUY.  15 

fiend  of  all  that  sort ;  the  saloon-keeper  cleared  away  the  mid- 
night glasses  from  one  of  his  tables,  ran  a  hose  from  the 
gas-burner  to  the  table,  lay  down  on  that  table  and 
breathed  out  of  the  gas-holder  far  away  on  Adams  street. 
The  papers  of  the  world  were  full  of  it. 

The  wonderful  city  said :  "  We  will  have  oil."  They 
bored  and  struck  the  first  of  the  artesian  wells,  that  spouted 
for  the  world's  amazement. 

The  city  that  had  built  the  wigwam,  and  caucused  Honest 
Old  Abe  on  the  nation  as  its  President;  that  had  nominated 
McClellan  ;  that  had  mustered  Ellsworth  and  Mulligan; 
that  had  the  lumber  and  the  grain  and  the  cattle  of  the  con- 
tinent for  sale — this  city  seemed  to  call  all  young  men;  and 
the  tide  of  buoyant  and  expectant  life  that  rolled  toward  her 
showed  the  power  of  her  allurements. 

Daniel  Trentworthy  rode  around  the  lake-shore ;  he 
crossed  other  lines  of  railroad  and  lines  of  telegraph  poles 
that  seemed  hurrying  to  one  center;  he  gazed  with  falling 
spirits  over  the  foggy  marsh  out  of  which  the  second  Rome 
had  risen.  It  was  so  level,  so  flat,  so  watery,  so  rainy  !  Why 
did  the  scream  of  the  outflying  locomotive  startle  him  as  it 
rushed  away  ?  His  woes  came  on  him  then,  and  he  wept  a 
little  for  his  great  father,  the  lamp  of  whose  life  had  been  ex- 
tinguished so  suddenly.  In  what  darkness  had  it  Left  his  son  f 

But,  as  he  came  forth  from  the  depot  beside  the  beautiful 
lake,  he  saw  a  long  cavalcade  and  procession  coming  up  the 
leading  street  of  residences.  All  spectacular  processions  took 
that  route. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked. 

"  It  is  Weston,  finishing  his  walk  from  Portland,  Me.," 
was  the  reply. 

Yes,  Chicago  was  the  end  of  the  world  for  Weston,  as  it 
seemed  for  every  other  mortal.  Daniel  Trentworthy  gazed 
on  the  little  man  as  he  bowed  to  his  tens  of  thousands  of  ad- 
mirers. 


16  DANIEL  THENTWORTIIY. 

"  If  he  can  walk  here,  I  can  at  least  ride  here,"  he  smiled, 
and  was  happy  that  he  belonged  to  th»  <(  bright  Christian 
capital  of  lakes  and  prairie." 


CHAPTEE  III. 

NO  DANGER  OF  FIRE  ON"  DE  KOVEX  STREET. 

As  Daniel  Trentworthy  had  left  the  train  and  crossed  the 
dead-line  where  he  became  the  legitimate  prey  of  the  hotel- 
runners,  a  man  in  gray,  with  a  massive  mustache  which 
failed  to  hide  a  square  chin — a  man  with  a  cold  gray  eye 
betokening  vast  experience,  and  with  a  ponderous  steel 
badge  pinned  to  the  lapel  of  his  coat — this  formidable  man 
fixed  his  cold  steel  eye  and  his  cold  steel  badge  on  the  young 
adventurer. 

"The  Girard  House,"  said  the  man,  speaking  not  as  a 
scribe,  but  as  one  having  authority. 

Of  course  the  young  man  did  not  want  to  go  to  the  Girard 
House. 

"  A  dollar  and  a  half  a  day,"  said  the  great  man  sternly, 
as  though  the  visitor  had  harbored  thoughts  of  foolish  ex- 
pense. Expense  was  to  be  avoided.  That  was  the  look  of 
the  gray  eye. 

" But  where  is  the  Girard  House?"  The  young  man's 
voice  was  getting  faint.  He  was  losing  ground  rapidly. 

"Right  here,"  and  the  thumb  went  behind  the  immense 
badge.  Surely  enough.  It  was  clearly  a  decoration  of 
which  the  austere  courier  was  proud.  The  doubt  implied  in 
the  young  man's  query  had  been  overwhelmed. 

"  How  far  do  we  go  ?  " 

"It  is  right  here  at  the  end  of  the  depot.  Close  to  the 
depot.  Near  by  the  depot." 


NO  DANGER  OF  FIRE  ON  DE  KOVEN  STREET.       17 

He  of  the  stern  eye  had  said  his  sa}T.  It  was  sufficient. 
Daniel  Trentworthy  was  led  away  to  the  little  Girard  House, 
because  it  was  adjacent  to  a  depot  which  he  would  not  again 
use.  That  argument  had  won  the  day. 

So,  down  at  the  end  of  the  nastiest  street  this  side  of 
Erzeroum  ;  down  at  the  end  of  a  double  row  of  chicken  crates 
nearly  a  mile  long  ;  down  at  the  end  of  an  avenue  where 
green  grocers'  wagons,  packed  like  sardines,  carried  away 
only  a  portion  of  the  green  things  that  must  wither 
and  mildew  in  a  day  ;  within  a  few  feet  of  a  sewage  la- 
goon that  had  not  yet  been  drained  into  the  Mississippi 
River — to  such  an  inn  the  boy  was  forced,  by  the  power  of 
one  man  over  another,  to  go.  However,  he  need  not  stay,  for 
the  great  man's  work  was  done  when  he  led  the  guest  to  the 
register.  Daniel  Trentworthy  wrote  his  name,  and  the 
glorious  runner  went  back  to  the  dead-line. 

It  was  easy  enough,  after  dinner,  there  being  no  other 
great  man  at  the  Girard  House,  to  pay  the  bill  and  seek  a 
hotel  in  the  region  of  the  Court-house. 

How  imposing  is  an  edifice  with  a  great  dome,  if  it  stands 
in  the  middle  of  a  square,  with  an  iron  fence  around  it  and 
the  heart  of  a  wonderful  city  at  every  gate. 

And  if  a  solid  line  of  hackney  coaches  surround  it  on  four 
streets,  how  shall  the  mind  escape  the  conclusion  that  there 
is  a  funeral  of  some  hero  within,  or  a  Webster,  or  Clay,  or 
Douglas,  or  Lincoln  charming  all  those  who  can  crowd  into 
the  rotunda  ? 

Boom !  strikes  the  deep  bell  on  the  roof  of  the  Court- 
house ;  again,  one,  two  ;  one.  two,  three. 

Yes,  it  is  doubtless  a  funeral  oration.  How  thick  the 
mist  ;  how  insufferably  thick  the  air  !  It  is  a  fitting  day  for 
such  an  event. 

"  Why,  my  dear  sir,"  exclaimed  a  bustling  Chicagoan, 
"that  is  the  hack-stand.  The  bell? — why,  yes,  that  is  at 

box  123,  on  the  North  Side."  , 
2 


18  DANIEL  TRENTWORTUY. 

"  What's  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  see.  You  are  a  stranger.  It  is  a  fire — noth- 
ing but  a  fire." 

Ah,  well,  Daniel  Trentworthy  thinks  it  would  take  a  very 
hot  fire  to  burn  much  of  this  damp  region.  He  feels  as 
though  he  were  in  a  cave. 

He  hears  much  of  "  the  North  Side,"  "  the  South  Side," 
"the  West  Side."  The  glibness  with  which  an  inhabitant, 
uses  local  terms  always  offends  a  new-comer.  So  Daniel  buys 
a  map  of  the  city,  and  fixes  these  divisions  in  his  mind.  He 
finds  that  he  may  take  a  sheet  of  common  note-paper  for  the 
site  of  Chicago.  On  the  right  edge  is  Lake  Michigan  ;  on 
the  other  edges  the  low  and  level  prairie.  Two  sluggish  bay- 
ous lie  lengthways  of  this  sheet,  in  the  center — that  is,  one 
runs  southward  to  the  middle,  and  the  other  northward 
to  the  middle.  Draw  a  line  up  and  down  the  centre 
of  the  sheet  ;  the  junction  is  at  the  middle  of  the  sheet  ; 
or,  to  be  exact,  about  two  rulings  above  the  middle  ; 
thence,  to  the  lake  at  the  right,  a  main  bayou  lies  between  ; 
blacken  the  right  half  of  the  middle  ruling  of  the  note-paper. 
Now  Daniel  has  three  divisions  on  his  paper — the  West, 
twice  as  big  as  either  the  North  or  the  South. 

So  much  adherence,  in  every-day  speech,  to  this  dividing 
of  the  city  did  not  seem  necessary  to  him,  but  the  people 
thought  so.  If  he  crossed  a  bridge  that  turned  on  a  pivot  in 
the  middle  of  the  river,  although  he  traveled  only  a  hundred 
feet,  he  had  gone  from  the  South  to  the  West  side.  It  prob- 
ably came  from  the  days  of  township  government,  for  the 
three  "  sides"  embraced  as  many  towns,  and  taxes  are  still 
paid  on  this  theory.  By  careful  attention  to  these  details 
of  local  custom,  Daniel  Trentworthy  came  to  understand  the 
city.  The  West  Side  was  the  Brooklyn,  or  bedchamber. 
The  South  Side  had  the  business,  or  nine-tenths  of  it  ;  the 
North  Side  had  the  oldest  trees  and  favorite  houses,  and 
prettiest  park,  and  first  cemetery,  already  abandoned. 


NO  DANGER  OF  FIRE  ON  DE  KOVEN  STREET.      19 

Counting  across  his  sheet  of  paper,  from  prairie  to  lake, 
he  found  he  could  have  about  thirty  long  streets  ;  counting 
lengthways  of  his  sheet,  he  could  have  about  sixty  shorter 
ones.  It  was  decidedly  a  lake-shore  city,  twice  as  long  as  it 
was  broad  in  its  widest  part,  which  would  be  the  middle  of 
the  sheet.  He  marveled  at  the  peculiar  lay  of  these  branch 
rivers.  At  their  junction  a  square  of  land  fitted  on  each 
side  of  the  main  conduit.  Vessels  coming  down  either  branch 
turned  a  right  angle  as  they  took  the  principal  channel  to 
go  into  the  lake.  The  top  of  the  sheet  would  be  Fullerton 
avenue  ;  the  bottom  Thirty-first  street,  the  left  side  Western 
avenue.  Across  the  sheet  would  be  three  miles,  down  the 
sheet  six  miles.  All  these  measurements,  of  course,  were  ap- 
proximate, and  yet  the  sheet  of  note-paper,  with  its  two  lines, 
one  long  and  one  short,  represented  well  enough  the  great 
level  plain  of  say  eighteen  square  miles  on  which  stood  the 
city  of  Chicago.  He  fixed  the  Court-house  at  a  point 
equally  distant  from  the  South  Branch,  the  main  channel  and 
the  lake.  This  was  the  heart  of  the  city.  A  ring  a 
mile  out  surrounding  this  Court-house  would  strike  De 
Koven  street,  a  humble  avenue  that  was  to  be  greatly  exalted 
in  history.  A  radius  pointing  to  137  De  Koven  street,  at  its 
junction  with  the  mile  circle,  would  run  east  of  southwest  ; 
the  corresponding  radius,  running  north  of  northeast,  would 
reach  the  northern  side  of  the  circle  precisely  at  the  water 
works.  The  Court-house  then  was  exactly  half  way,  on  a 
straight  line,  from  De  Koven  street  to  the  water  works,  at 
the  lake  shore  on  the  North  Side.  A  ring  three  miles  out 
would  touch  Fullerton  avenue,  the  top  of  the  note-paper.  At 
college  Daniel  had  been  in  the  habit  of  projecting  the  out- 
lines of  the  plans  of  great  cities  on  his  mind.  Paris,  London, 
Berlin,  Rome,  and  Vienna  were  thus  familiar  to  him,  and 
this  device  of  a  sheet  of  note-paper  had  been  the  means  by 
which  he  accomplished  a  seemingly  wonderful  (but  rather 


20  DAXIXL  TRENTWORTHT. 

simple)  undertaking.  But  no  city  is  so  easy  to  lay  out  in 
the  mind  as  is  Chicago. 

Daniel  Trentworthy  had  suffered  a  great  fall,  but  he  knew 
very  little  about  that.  He  spoke  the  words  as  he  heard  them 
spoken.  His  future  had  been  one  of  great  responsibilities, 
so  he  had  thought — a  future  from  which  he  shrank.  Now 
he  had  only  to  earn  his  own  living.  It  looked  easy  and  com- 
fortable. 

Here  was  a  beautiful  city.  At  the  end  of  the  street  the 
air  was  pure  and  blue,  for  it  stood  over  the  lake.  The  streets 
were  well  paved  and  noiseless.  The  buildings  were  contin- 
uous, and  five  stories  high.  The  men  were  young.  At 
thirty-five  he  (Daniel)  would  undoubtedly  be  the  owner  of  a 
block,  like  these  others. 

Therefore  he  would  see  the  city  before  he  captured  it. 
What  were  its  sights  ?  The  Douglas  tomb,  the  Court-house 
cupola,  the  water  works,  the  artesian  well,  and  Lincoln  Park. 
The  artesian  well  was  at  the  western  limits.  The  tomb  was 
at  the  southeastern  limits.  We  know  where  the-Court-house 
and  the  water  works  stood.  Lincoln  Park  was  in  the  upper 
right  corner  of  the  sheet  of  paper.  He  did  not  care  to  sea 
De  Koven  street — in  those  days. 

So  when  he  found  there  were  so  few  things  to  amuse  the 
idler  he  bethought  himself  that  idlers  belonged  farther  East- 
ward, and  presented  himself  to  the  honorable  gentlemen  who 
Avere  to  take  his  case  in  hand.  In  those  days  letters  of  recom- 
mendation meant  something.  The  honorable  president  of  the 
board,  and  the  honorable  deputy  superintendent  of  the  force, 
and  the  honorable  mayor  himself  were  pleased  to  hear  from 
their  learned  friend.  There  was  room  for  young  men  i  i 
Chicago.  For,  when  you  have  only  220,000  people  in  a  city 
with  eighteen  square  miles,  you  need  a  great  many  more  peo- 
ple with  whom  to  fill  up. 

"  Put  him  in  with  the  boys,"  said  the  deputy  to  the  presi- 
dent, for  that  would  let  the  deputy  out  of  it. 


NO  DANGER  OF  FIltE  ON  DE  KOVEN  STREET.       21 

"  How  would  you  like  a  place  in  an  engine  house  ?  "  askocl 
the  president. 

"  That  would  suit  me  exactly,"  said  the  son  of  the  presi- 
dent of  El  Dorado. 

So  Daniel  Trentworthy  became  a  cub  in  the  Long  John 
engine  house  behind  the  Board  of  Trade  that  had  just  been 
finished. 

He  was  obedient  and  useful.  The  boys  liked  him.  He 
did  not  get  "  hard." 

"  It  is  wonderful  how  well  that  young  feller  knows  the 
streets  of  this  'ere  city,"  a  fireman  would  observe.  "  We've 
got  a  big  machine  to  haul,  but  we  never  take  a  roundabout 
way  if  he's  along.  He  knows  every  foot  of  pavement,  and  he 
always  seems  to  keep  track  of  even  the  house-movings.  I 
ain't  seein'  what  we'd  a  done  without  him." 

From  the  Long  John  house  to  a  certain  corner  was  precise- 
ly the  distance  to  be  traversed  by  another  engine  coming  up 
another  street.  Thus,  whenever  both  crews  worked  in  the 
same  time  and  drove  at  breakneck  speed  toward  that  point, 
they  would  certainly  come  in  collision  with  dire  results. 
Not  long  after  Daniel  got  on  the  rolls,  this  usual  collision 
came  about,  a  man  on  the  Long  John  was  killed,  the  engine 
house  was  hung  with  black,  and  Daniel  was  given  the  vacant 
place.  He  was  now  a  pipeman,  a  full-fledged  fireman — one 
of  as  brave  a  lot  of  men  as  ever  breathed  fire  and  smoke,  like 
Apollyon. 

One  day  there  came  into  the  engine  house  a  slight  man 
with  a  pale,  narrow  face  and  a  weak  voice.  He  spoke  as  if 
he  had  a  sore  throat.  He  asked  for  Daniel. 

"  Didn't  you  once  live  in  Lima  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Daniel. 

"  Well,  when  you  were  a  little  boy,  and  wore  gingham 
aprons  or  frocks  with  a  belt,  do  you  remember  that  a  printer 
boy  used  to  print  your  name  on  a  strip  of  paper,  which  you 
would  fasten  to  your  belt  ?  " 


22  DANIEL  TRENT  WORTHY. 

"  Yes.     That  was  Harmon  Holebroke." 

"  That's  my  name.  I  live  here  in  Chicago,  and  I  heard  you 
were  here.  Wouldn't  you  like  to  take  your  meals  at  our  house 
and  make  your  home  there  ?  We  would  be  glad  to  have  you." 

So  Daniel  went  to  the  house  of  his  old  friend,  Harmon 
Holebroke.  There  he  found  the  mother  and  a  sister.  Another 
sister  was  at  school  in  a  New  England  town. 

Harmon  Holebroke  was  a  printer  on  a  morning  daily  news- 
paper. He  was  quiet  and  good.  He  did  not  drink.  The 
foreman  of  the  office  had  little  sympathy  for  men  who  kept 
away  from  saloons,  and  had  possibly  given  Harmon  his  sit- 
uation under  a  misapprehension.  However,  the  foreman  stood 
by  his  man  after  he  had  hired  him. 

/•'He's  harmless,  boys,"  the  foreman  would  say. 

The  greatest  ethnological  arid  convivial  authority  in  the 
office  gave  Harmon  a  careful  and  effective  study.  "  Gentle- 
men," he  said,  "  it's  a  sheep's-face."  So  for  a  while  all  the 
topers  called  Harmon  Sheepface. 

But  printers,  after  all,  are  the  most  intelligent  of  wage- 
laborers.  Would  that  all  leaders  of  men  knew  as  much ! 
The  great  authority  met  his  fate  when  he  made  the  mistake 
of  calling  Harmon  Holebroke  Sheepface.  The  men,  within 
a  month,  adopted  the  name  of  "  Christian"  for  Harmon,  and 
"  Hogmouth"  for  the  great  man.  Once  fastened,  neither  of 
these  appellations  was  ever  shaken  off. 

Now,  "  Hogmouth"  had  dwelt  in  that  office  many  years. 
He  had  rechristened  many  a  wight,  and  had  long  evaded  the 
penalty  of  their  revenge.  To  be  the  victim  of  the  worst  of 
all  the  nicknames,  and  to  have  his  comrades  seize  it  with  avid- 
ity, as  if  it  expressed  some  thought  which  had  long  sought 
relief,  was  more  than  he  could  bear  with  stoicism.  One 
day  he  met  Christian  Holebroke  and  Daniel  Trent  worthy  on 
the  street.  He  invited  them  into  a  saloon  to  drink.  They 
thanked  him,  but  declined.  He  was  partially  intoxicated, 
and  all  his  hatred  of  Holebroke  flamed  out. 


NO  DANGER  OF  FIRE  ON  DE  KOVEN  STREET.       23 

"You  will  drink  with  me  or  fight!"  he  cried.  And 
Harmon,  being  more  used  to  these  things  than  Daniel,  went 
into  the  saloon  and  pacified  the  drunken  bully.  It  made  a 
bad  impression  on  Daniel.  "  You  ought  to  have  let  me  settle 
with  that  fellow,"  he  said  ruefully. 

But  "  Hogrnouth  "  was  only  the  more  dissatisfied.  He  de- 
nounced both  Christian  and  his  friend  the  fireman  as  men  of 
the  white  feather,  and  did  not  go  back  to  work  for  three  weeks. 

Meantime  the  authorities  behind  Daniel  gave  him  a  little 
push  forward.  They  appointed  him  one  of  a  committee  to  re- 
port on  the  condition  of  that  part  of  the  city  lying  near 
West  Twelfth  street,  and  within  the  mile-circle  drawn  around 
the  Court-house. 

He  found  that  the  streets  had  been  laid  out  very  closely 
together,  and  very  narrow.  They  were  solidly  built  up  with 
cottages  that  had  received  one  coat  of  poor  paint.  Situ- 
ated in  a  region  near  the  smoke  of  the  river  tugs  and  planing 
mills,  the  cottages  had  blackened  in  a  year's  time.  They  all 
looked  to  be  forty  years  old.  The  shingles  were  black,  and 
lolled  lazily  in  a  good  breeze.  These  streets  were  built  east 
and  west.  The  lots  were  not  over  100  feet  deep.  Back  of 
the  cottages  were  sheds  and  barns,  and  board  fences  joined 
whole  districts  together.  The  alleys  were  sixteen  feet  across, 
but  a  pile  of  "dry  stable-bedding  from  each  barn  would  meet 
a  pile  across  the  way. 

The  city  had  been  much  frightened  by  the  Lake  street  fire, 
where  a  whole  block  on  one  side  of  this,  the  principal  whole- 
sale street,  burned,  and  set  fire  to  another  block  on  the  other 
side  of  the  street  and  two  blocks  eastward.  The  loss  had 
been  $3,000,000.  The  buildings  were  so  high  that  the  water 
froze  before  it  reached  the  windows,  after  leaving  the  pipe. 
This  had  given  an  impetus  to  the  present  inspection. 

Daniel,  book  in  hand,  and  with  the  badge  of  authority, 
was  a  most  unwelcome  visitor  on  De  Koven,  Forquer  and 
Ewing  streets. 


24  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHT. 

"  Hogmouth"  lived  on  Taylor.  The  householders  ap- 
pealed to  him.  He  worked  on  a  newspaper,  and  therefore 
was  an  editor. 

"  Pay  no  attention  to  him,"  said  "  Hogmouth."  "  I'll  fix 
that  fellow." 

So  Daniel  entered  house  after  house,  and  sketched  pile 
after  pile  of  kindlings  for  a  great  fire.  He  was  unfortunate 
enough  to  ask  the  old  women  if  they  did  not  feel  somewhat 
insecure. 

"  Maybe  we  doos,  wid  th'  loikes  av  yez  ter  pit  oot  oor 
foires,  yez  tax-aiting  thafe,"  they  scolded.  "They're  do  be 
goin'  th'  Coort-hoose  bell,  now,  yez  loafer,  an'  some  poor 
woman's  burnin'  oot.  Divil  a  bit  yez  moind  phwile  yez  do 
be  makin'  yez  pictchures  av  honest  payple's  hooses.  We'll 
trun  th'  loike  av  yez  into  th'  river  av  yer  shows  yer  mug 
here  agin  at  all !  " 

What  filled  the  inspector  with  especial  fear  was  the  sight 
of  great  arks  of  fine  shavings  from  the  mills.  Processions 
of  these  vast  wagons,  twice  as  long  and  high  as  ice  carts, 
would  file  down  the  lanes  and  alleys,  leaving  ia  the  aggre- 
gate tons  of  their  contents  at  the  gateways  of  the  inhabitants. 
The  shavings  were  used  for  the  bedding  of  both  man  and 
beast.  After  use  they  were  piled  in  the  alleys. 

Daniel's  report,  with  drawings  and  detailed  accounts  of 
the  fire  material  on  hand,  which  solidly  covered  an  area  so 
large,  made  a  nine  da}rs'  sensation  in  the  city.  "  Hogmouth" 
went  to  his  two  aldermen,  and  those  worthies  came  down  so 
hard  on  the  young  inspector  that  he  was  privately  cautioned 
that  if  he  should  have  any  more  reports  to  make  he  would  do 
well  to  draw  them  milder. 

This  dampened  his  ardor.  Meeting  "Hogmouth"  on  the 
street,  Daniel  gave  him  a  mauling,  after  the  fashion  approved 
in  the  Fire  Department. 

Now,  although  this  encounter  pleased  the  boys  at  the 
Long  John  house,  it  resulted  disastrously  to  Daniel,  for 


"HURRY  UP  THERE,  BILL!"  25 

"  Hogmouth  "  secured  Daniel's  arrest,  and  the  authorities 
reduced  him  to  his  ordinary  duties. 

There  was  a  jollification  on  De  Koven  street  over  the 
downfall  of  the  inspector. 

"Did  yez  hear  phwat  that  thafe  wor  a  goin' to  be  doin' 
wid  us  ?  Well,  thin,  he  do  be  buildin'  a  wall  bechune  us 
an'  th'  river,  ter  kape  off  thim  lake  breezes.  Th'  divil  take 
him." 

This  likelihood  of  fire  was  a  sore  subject.  It  made  the 
denizens  inad  at  the  first  thought.  Why  was  that  ? 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  HURRY    UP    ThERfc,  BILL  !  " 

"  I  DO  not  believe  you  will  stay  in  the  Fire  Department," 
prophesied  Christian  Holebroke.  "  The  crowd  doesn't  suit 
you." 

But  Daniel  was  young  and  hopeful.  He  liked  the  service. 
Besides,  he  was  without  the  ties  of  family.  The  boys  in 
their  bunks  were  his  family.  He  invented  an  apparatus 
that  threw  him  out  of  bed  and  slid  him  down-stairs  whenever 
an  alarm  sounded. 

Now,  most  of  us  would  prefer  a  bed  that  had  no  such  tricks. 
Yet,  if  we  had  invented  it,  perhaps  there  might  be  a  delicious 
sense  of  enjoyment  "as  we  found  ourselves  shooting  down 
the  slippery  plank. 

Anyhow,  it  was  so  with  Daniel. 

The  Washington  street  tunnel,  after  a  history  which  in- 
cluded the  worst  wreck  that  ever  was  cleared  away,  was 
completed  with  a  great  show  of  civic  pride.  It  promptly  be- 
gan leaking,  and  has  leaked  ever  since.  A  couple  of  confi- 
dence men  stationed  themselves  at  the  entrances  and  charged 


26  DANIEL  TRENTWORTEY. 

an  extortionate  entrance  fee.  But  nothing  could  keep  sight- 
seers out. 

The  passage  for  vehicles  separated  at^the  bed  of  the  river, 
and  there  the  great  arch  divided  into  two  arches,  with  a  wall 
between  the  teams  which  passed  each  other  on  their  way 
through.  The  descent  from  Franklin  street  was  rapid.  Of 
course,  the  head  of  the  center  wall  was  a  thing  to  be  avoided 
by  the  descending  drivers. 

Now,  firemen,  when  they  drive,  avoid  nothing.  Every- 
thing avoids  them.  So,  one  day,  ding-ding  went  the  house 
alarm,  tramp,  tramp  came  the  horses  out  of  the  stalls,  of 
their  own  accord — the  good  old  fire  laddies — thump,  came 
the  boys  down  the  plane,  and  out  went  the  Long  John,  like  a 
whirlwind,  up  LaSalle  to  Washington,  and  down  Washing- 
ton, to  the  tunnel.  Down  the  tunnel  the  engine  thundered, 
racking  from  two  wheels  to  two  wheels,  square  in  t\i3  center 
of  the  way,  frightening  every  up-coming  driver  well-nigh  to 
death,  as  might  easily  be  done. 

Now,  the  Long  John  hud  never  met  anything  before 
that  it  had  not  knocked  over.  The  solemn  and  bellowing 
ice  cart  was  only  a  hollow  delusion — the  Long  John,  the 
monster  engine,  had  often  demonstrated  the  flimsiness  of 
all  ice  carts.  But  the  buttress  at  the  bottom  of  the  tunnel 
was  a  new  thing.  The  Long  John,  as  we  have  said,  first 
on  two  wheels,  then  on  the  two  on  the  other  side,  its  horses 
galloping  at  full  tilt  to  keep  from  being  run  over,  its 
drivers  turned  into  furious  demons  who  yelled  thati  all  who 
loved  their  lives  might  vanish  into  the  narrow  walls  pray- 
ing to  God,  and  who,  thus  yelling,  clanged  on  a  soul-ter- 
rifying gong  which  drowned  even  the  infernal  clatter  of 
the  horses'  hoofs — the  biggest,  longest,  heaviest  engine  in 
the  city  thus  made  its  first  entrance  into  that  swift-de- 
scending tunnel.  Dimly  the  buttress  in  the  center  loomed 
across  the  path  of  the  terrible  visitor.  The  demons  in 


"HUE BY  UP  THERE,  BILL!"  27 

helmets  yelled  for   the  buttress  to  get  out  of  the    way,  and 
then  dashed  on  to  overtake  it  in  its  flight. 

But,  alas  !  the  next  moment  the  Long  John  was  a  wreck, 
its  horses  were  sprawling  in  the  right  passage-way,  and  the 
demons  were  turned  into  half-insensible  firemen — nothing 
but  Chicago  laddies,  who  wondered  how  it  had  come,  and 
how  it  had  come  they  were  not  killed. 

The  wreck  of  the  Long  John  brought  the  "  Hogmouth" 
to  the  front  once  more.  The  Alderman  from  De  Koven 
street  set  an  investigation  on  foot  to  "bag"  Daniel,  but  he 
escaped  the  blame,  and  was  laid  up  at  home  for  a  few  days, 
where  Mary  Holebroke's  mother  cared  for  him  as  she  would 
have  cared  for  her  son  Harmon.  Had  she  not  known  Daniel 
when  he  was  a  boy  ? 

"  Never  mind  the  engine  house,"  she  said  to  console  him, 
"  Mary  will  play  you  the  pieces  you  like." 

And  Mary's  playing  did  console  him  mightily.  He  found 
himself  buying  the  Boosey  red  books — then  new  in  the  West, 
all  the  operas,  all  the  masses,  the  great  waltzes  that  then 
were  pouring,  one  a  week,  on  the  world — Strauss,  Kela  Bela, 
Offenbach.  How  strange  that  we  should  wait  twenty  years 
for  another  Blue  Danube  ! 

This  young  lady  would  take  the  scores  that  bothered 
Daniel  so  much,  and  forth  would  step  the  chords  and  fancies 
which  eluded  him  so  easity.  How  did  she  do  it  ?  Who  can 
tell  ?  She  was  a  musician.  She  did  it  naturally. 

Now,  Daniel  was  a  dumb  musician.  He  had  whole  masses 
in  him.  He  could  whistle  the  "  Lohengrin"  vorspiel  for 
sixteen  violins — that  is,  he  could  whistle  the  part  of  one 
violin  and  hear  the  other  fifteen* in  his  soul. 

"  Oh,  pshaw  ! "  you  exclaim.  "  Save  me  from  a  whistler." 
Very  true.  But  are  you  not  sorry  for  a  soul  so  full  of  music 
and  yet  so  dumb  ? 

Now,  Mary   Holebroke   heard  Daniel   whistle  Ferrando's 


28  DANIEL  TRENT  WORTHY. 

bass  aria,  "  Vuelta  Zingara,"  at  the  beginning  of  "  II  Trov- 
atore."  It  astonished  her. 

"Why,  you  whistle  that  just  as  it  is  written/'  she  said. 

"Of  course  I  do,"  he  said,  in  a  tremor  of  pleasure,  being 
at  last  appreciated. 

"  Let  me  accompany  you,"  she  said. 

How  extraordinary  were  his  feelings  as  he  chirruped 
through  that  mazy  aria,  feeling  the  accompaniment  be- 
neath his  thin  performance.  He  had  found  his  other  half. 

The  girl  laughed  and  laughed.  It  was  the  oddest  thing 
she  had  ever  seen.  She  begged  a  repetition.  There  were 
thousands  of  tunes  before  them — "The  Monks  and 
Their  Convents,"  "  The  Wolf,"  "  Why  Do  the  Nations," 
"  Ruddier  Than  a  Cherry,"  "  The  Fair  Land  of  Provence," 
the  whole  fourth  scene  of  the  fourth  act  of  "  The  Huguenots." 

The  maid  looked  out  the  window.  The  sun  was  setting. 
They  had  put  in  an  afternoon  of  it.  It  seemed  but  a  moment 
to  Daniel.  They  went  below  to  dinner,  and  paused  in  the 
garden. 

"  I  am  glad  I  was  hurt,"  he  said. 

"Let  me  pin  a  geranium  leaf  on  your  coat,"  she  said. 

"Put  a  violet  with  it,  dear,"  the  widow  Holebroke  sug- 
gested. 

Was  it  not  a  beautiful  city  and  a  beautiful  world  ?  Peace, 
blessed  peace  !  No  more  of  war.  The  lake  rippling  out 
there.  The  odors  of  May  fondly  hovering  over  the  lilacs  of 
June.  The  white  linen  passing  by  insensible  stages  into  the 
gleaming  silver  of  the  home-table.  The  gentle  face  of  the 
Christian,  thankful  for  life,  for  even  poor  health,  for  his  sis- 
ters, for  his  mother,  for  Chicago. 

Something  was  happening  to  Daniel. 

Yes,  something  was  happening  to  Daniel.  It  stole  upon 
him  cautiously,  because  young  men  of  his  type  are  not  easily 
allured  from  the  peace  of  single  life. 

He  fell  to  asking  how  he  could  conform  his  whistle  to  the 


"HURRY  UP  THERE,  BILL  I  "  29 

conventions  of  society.  He  ended  by  concluding  that  the 
same  persons  who  shuddered  at  the  music  he  made  would  be 
satisfied  if  he  were  to  whistle  through  a  flute.  He  therefore 
paid  $60  for  an  instrument  of  this  kind.  One-third  of  it,  or 
one  joint,  was  ivory.  Then  he  strove  to  breathe  all  his 
tunes  into  it.  Why  did  hi  licart  grow  so  sad,  even  while  a 
great  hope  quickened  within  him  ? 

"Never  mind  your  flute.  I'd  rather  hear  you  whistle. 
It's  so  odd  !  "  Mary  Holebroke  said.  She  looked  at  him  with 
her  gray  eye.  It  was  quarried  out  of  the  same  agate  that 
had  made  the  eye  of  the  great  man  of  the  Girard  House. 
Daniel  looked  deep  into  it,  and  felt  that  he  had  no  power. 

He  did  not  like  to  seem  odd,  but  there  was  no  help  for 
him.  Odd  he  seemed,  and  glad  enough  he  was  to  be  the  es- 
pecial object  of  that  young  gray-eyed  lady's  attention.  So 
he  whistled  and  she  modulated  and  whipped  the  piano  as  it 
were  her  slave,  and  laughed  and  laughed.  She  had  not 
been  so  amused  before. 

And  on  Sunday  Mary  asked  Daniel  if  he  did  not  want  to 
go  over  to  the  Foster  Mission  on  the  narrow  Jefferson  street, 
just  below  Polk.  She  had  a  class  there.  Did  he  wish 
to  go  ?  The  girl  must  have  thought  so.  How  swift  the 
hour  went.  How  well  Daniel  understood  those  newsboys  and 
how  little  the  good  deacons  knew  of  them  !  The  tough  little 
pieces  are  raising  Ned.  "  Look  here,  boys,"  cries  the  Dea- 
con, "  you  ain't  in  no  theayter  !  "  That  was  to.o  good.  For 
how  stern  that  copper  in  McVicker's  Theatre  was,  to  be  sure  ! 
Yet  the  deacon's  idea  of  a  theatrical  performance  was  some 
sort  of  orgy,  .such  as  the  gamins  knew  would  not  be  tolerated 
anywhere  else  save  in  a  mission  school. 

So  went  the  daj7s  until  the  winter  season  set  in ;  and 
though  something  had  happened  to  Daniel,  something  of  a 
more  tangible  essence  was  to  come.  Late  one  wintry  day  the 
fogs  and  smoke  and  dread  of  the  winter's  solstice  had  settled 
well  down  into  the .  South  Side.  On  every  hand  the  yellow 


30  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY, 

flicker  of  the  gas-lights  fought  a  losing  day  against  the  gloom 
of  it  all. 

Ding-ding  went  the  gong  in  the  engine  house  again,  and 
all  knew  there  was  a  fire  on  the  West  Side,  just  over  the 
South  Branch. 

It  was  at  the  close  of  the  working  day  in  winter,  near  bridge 
and  tunnel,  in  a  city  where  a  fire  was  counted  a  spectacle  that 
none  should  miss,  where  the  volunteer  spirit  was  still  in  the 
department,  and  where  men  loved  to  show  the  fire  that  was 
in  them.  It  was  a  blaze  fifty  feet  wide  by  150  feet  long, 
three  stories  high.  This  was  the  evening's  drama  as  it 
opened. 

In  that  din  which  delighted  them  the  firemen  galloped 
their  engines  into  the  adjacent  streets,  the  hose  was  unreeled 
in  miles,  and  the  ladders  were  set  against  the  machine  shop 
that  was  on  fire.  The  policemen  took  their  places  and  ran  a 
rope  around  the  corner.  Over  the  Lake  street  bridge,  nearest 
the  main  channel ;  over  the  Randolph  street  bridge  next ; 
through  the  Washington  street  tunnel  next,  and  over  the 
Madison  street  bridge  next,  the  home-goers  hurried  across 
the  South  Branch,  and  debouched  into  the  streets  that  were 
fronted  by  the  doomed  structure.  Twenty-five  thousand  peo- 
ple were  gazing  at  the  fire  in  as  many  minutes  after  the  en- 
gines had  stopped  at  the  fire-plugs. 

"Rape  back,  d'yer  moind  !  "  yelled  the  police. 

"Hurry  up  there,  Bill !"  bellowed  the  long  silver  trumpets 
of  the  marshals.  A  great,  hoarse  voice — something  entirely 
indistinguishable,  yet  terrifying — a  bull-like  roar,  yet  husky, 
nigh  to speechlessness.  "Hurry  up  there,  Bill !  " — like  the 
"deep-bellowing  caves  of  the  ocean,"  caves  with  faulty  vocal 
chords,  truly  a  cavernous  speech.  A  voice  that  made  the 
crowd  fall  back  as  no  policeman's  billy  could  do.  "  Hurry, 
up  there,  Bill !  " — it  rolled  away,  like  the  echo  of  cannon  at 
sunrise. 

"How  pretty  the  wires  look!  "  exclaimed  the  host,  as  the 


"  HURRY  Z7P  THERE,  BILL!  "  31 

blaze  burst  through  the  windows  and  rested  on  the  telegraph. 
The  rain  and  fog  had  frozen  on  the  wires,  and  they  shone 
white  as  snow  for  blocks  away. 

As  the  twenty-five  thousand  faces  were  lit  up  all  the  cries 
of  Milton's  demons  seemed  to  come  from  the  lips  of  the  ex- 
asperated firemen.  The  "Hurry-up-there- Bills  !  "  grew  into 
an  orgy.  The  rites  became  an  offering  to  Baal.  "Toot- 
toot,  "  asked  the  engines.  "  Chuffy-chuffy-chuffy,"  they 
settled  to  their  monotonous  work  as  the  building  was  seen  to 
be  badly  off. 

And  now  the  horns  grow  hoarser  and  the  excitement  of 
the  multitude  spreads  to  its  uttermost  limits,  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  away. 

"My  God!"  cries  a  spectator,  "they've  no  right  to  send 
men  up  there  !  I  know  that  roof.  The  whole  thing  is  a 
rattle-trap." 

The  longest  ladder  is  to  be  put  against  the  building.  It 
will  barely  touch  the  roof.  The  wires  are  in  the  way. 

"  Cut  them  wires  !  "  bellows  the  fog-horn  voice  through  the 
trumpet. 

A  man  climbs  up  the  nearest  pole. 

Just  then  the  ladder  is  let  under  the  wires  and  raised 
again.  It  rests  against  the  side  of  the  building. 

"  On  my  soul,  I  believe  I  saw  that  wall  shake  ! "  cries  the 
spectator. 

"  I  did,  too  !  "  adds  another. 

"  Hurry  up  there,  Dan  !  "  bellows  the  fog-horn.  Daniel 
Trentworthy  seizes  the  pipe,  and  three  other  firemen  catch 
hold  on  the  hose.  They  are  already  on  the  ladder. 

"  Don't  go  on  that  roof  ! "  yell  the  crowd,  now  thoroughly 
of  a  belief  that  the  building  is  rotten. 

Up  the  ladder  the  men  toil.     The  hose  is  very  heavy. 

"  Come  down  !  Keep  off  that  roof !  The  wall's  shaking  !  " 
echo  the  thousands  of  throats. 

•'  Oi'll  shmash  yer  face,  wid  yer  !  "  cries  a  policeman  to  u 


32  DANIEL  TRENT  WORTHY. 

loud-voiced  warner.     The   officer  has  seen  crowds  scared  be- 
fore. 

But  -arther  back  than  the  officer  could  see  the  wave  of 
warning  rolled  onward  toward  the  ladder. 

"  You'll  get  killed  if  you  go  up  there  !  Let  the  trap  burn  ! 
Good  riddance  of  bad  rubbish  !  " 

"  Hurry  up  there,  Dan  !  Hurry  up  there,  Bill ! "  re- 
sounded the  deepest  of  all  the  fog-horns. 

The  little  group  grasped  the  parapet.  They  tugged  at  the 
pipe  and  the  hose.  They  hooked  it  to  the  coping.  They 
sprang  lightly  to  the  roof. 

The  vast  crowd  yeasted  and  writhed  within  itself.  The 
cheer  surged  from  block  to  block.  Ah  !  but  a  fireman  is  a 
brave  man — a  Chicago  fireman  ! 

The  man  on  the  pole  has  not  cut  the  wires.  He  yells  that 
the  boys  want  an  ax.  Up  goes  the  ax,  and  is  handed  over 
the  parapet.  Then  the  four  can  no  longer  be  seen.  Perhaps 
there  is  the  sound  of  an  axman  chopping.  One,  two, 
three.  It  may  be  an  ax.  Still  the  general  noise  is  all-per- 
vading. 

"  Oh,  they  do  be  pitting  a  hole  t'rough  th'  roof.  An'  they 
be  afther  bavin'  it  oot  now,"  explained  the  officer. 

Yes ;  one,  two,  three.  That  is  the  ax.  One,  two,  three  ! 
What  is  that  ? 

"Oh!"  breathe  the  twenty -five  thousand,  as  if  it  were   their 
last  gasp. 

For,  after  the  third  blow,  there  is  a  sound  as  of  wind 
among  pines ;  a  whirring  as  of  sightless  couriers  of  the  air. 
There  is  a  deep  red  gleam  in  the  home  of  Orion,  who  is  rid- 
ing on  high  over  that  roof.  There  is  truly  an  opening  in  the 
roof,  but  it  must  be  a  large  one.  Then  there  comes  a  crash 
that  strikes  a  heavy  blow  on  the  walls  of  every  throbbing 
heart.  The  roof  has  gone  down.  The  conflagration  leaps  to 
Orion,  and  Orion,  smiting  it  with  his  sword,  beats  it  back 
into  its  four  walls.  A  million  sparks  loiter  in  the  skies  and 


"HURRY  UP  THERE,  BILL!"  33 

cluster  into  baleful  constellations.  Let  no  babe  enter  the 
world  under  their  empire. 

Is  it  not  awful  that  these  .our  lads  should  thus  be  fed  to 
Moloch  ?  Yes,  it  is  awful.  It  spoils  the  supper  of  many  a 
Chicagoan  who  but  a  moment  ago  was  impatient  to  reach 
his  home.  Four  brave  men  have  gone  down  into  a  hell  of 
flame. 

"  Well,  the  wall  stood,  after  all,"  says  one  of  the  crowd. 
"  I  thought  I  saw  it  shake.  I  guess  I  was  mistaken." 

"  Yis,  yez  was  mistook,"  says  the  officer. 

And  what  is  that  on  the  parapet  ?     It  is  a  man's  arm ! 

"  Save  him  !     Save  him  !"  goes  up  on  every  hand. 

"  Hurry  up  there,  Bill '  "  rumbles  the  fog-horn.  Two  men 
start  up  the  ladder. 

It  is  Daniel  Trentworthy  up  there.  He  has  clung  to  the 
hose  and  pulled  himself  to  the  coping.  He  crawls  on  the 
stones  and  lies  on  his  face  at  full  length.  He  gathers 
strength  and  peers  down  the  outside.  He  is  not  far  from,  the 
ladder. 

"Hurry  up  there,  Bill !  "  bellows  the  trumpet. 

"  Go  down  !  Go  down  ! "  Daniel  cries  to  his  rescuers. 
"You  shake  the  wall.  I  can  come  down." 

But  firemen  obey  orders. 

"Hurry  up  there,  -Bill!"  resounds  the  deep  horn. 

It  is  too  late.  The  ladder's  Aveight  has  been  the  last 
straw.  There  is  a  pendulous  movement.  The  men  on  the 
ladder  feel  it,  and  drop  at  once  to  the  ground. 

The  wall  moves  outward  as  the  pressure  from  the  ladder 
lessens,  and  then,  as  the  beams  on  the  inside  assert  their 
weight,  the  movement  begins  the  other  way. 

Daniel  Trentworthy  is  on  his  knees.  He  is  on  his  feet. 
He  stands  on  the  coping,  a  black  silhouette  clearly  limned 
upon  a  background  of  red  flame.  It  is  I>londin,  walking  be- 
fore the  molten  cataract,  as  the  father  of  Daniel  Trentworthy 
had  done.  One  moment  more  the  wall  will  be  far  off  its 


34  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

center,  sucked  in  by  the  flames.  The  ladder  is  there,  but  it 
cannot  avail. 

The  young  man  tarries  until  the  crowd  nearly  faints  with 
excitement.  They  ought  to  wait  if  he  can.  And  it  is  neces- 
sary to  his  nature  that  he  should  commend  his  soul  to  God. 

The  wall  is  slowly  on  its  way  inward — perhaps  a  foot,  per- 
haps eighteen  inches.  Now  its  motion  accelerates. 

"  He  waits  too  long  !     He  can't  jump  now !  "  they  cry. 

He  bends  his  knees.  He  gives  a  great  spring.  He  is 
in  the  air.  The  wall  is  at  forty-five  degrees  far  behind 
him. 

"  The  wires  !  The  wires  !  "  resounds  backward  to  Halsted 
street. 

There  are  three  cross-trees  on  the  tall  poles.  Each  cross- 
tree  or  spar  carries  ten  telegraph  wires.  The  climber  has 
clipped  only  three  or  four  in  all. 

The  three  tiers  of  wires  gleam  white  in  the  air.  Even  be- 
fore the  flying  man  reaches  them  the  ice  has  melted  and  they 
disappear  from  sight.  His  arms  project  over  the  upper  plane 
of  wires.  His  body  curls  under  as  a  snake's  would,  so 
anxious  is  the  imperiled  life  to  save  itself.  The  three  nearest 
and  topmost  wires  snap  under  the  shock,  and  the  body  lies 
for  a  moment  on  the  second  plane.  But  the  shock  has  also 
dazed  Daniel.  His  is  only  a  dumb  body,  without  thought. 
He  has  dropped  through  to  the  last  tier  before  .his  struggling, 
clutching  arms  and  legs  feel  the  resistance  of  a  wire. 

But  the  momentum  is  out  of  his  body.  As  he  drops 
through  to  the  under  plane  a  hand  seizes  a  wire.  It  holds 
him,  but  it  cuts.  The  other  hand  seizes  another  wire.  It 
cuts,  for  the  blood  can  be  seen  in  the  vivid  light.  The  arms 
might  hold,  but  the  body  is  afraid  to  trust  them.  The  legs 
writhe  upward,  as  if  they  were  also  hands,  and  finally  one 
foot  affects  a  lodgment.  Then  it  slips,  and  the  body  swings 
full  and  fair  toward  the  wall. 

There  is  a  cry  of  horror.     It  is  an  awful  tableau.    The  wall 


SOME  NEWS  FOR  DANIEL.  35 

is  down  with  a  resounding  blow  on  the  earth,  and  a  cloud  of 
dust  and  smoke  obscures  the  vision. 

But  the  body  has  refused  to  let  go,  and  the  two  wires  have 
not  broken.  The  hands  pull  upward  and  the  teeth  catch  the 
wire. 

"  He'll  cut  his  t'roat,  sure  !  "  observes  the  officer,  who  has 
seen  many  horrid  sights. 

The  ice  rattles  in  showers  from  Canal  to  Clinton,  to  Jeff 
erson,  to  Desplaines,  to  Union,  toHalsted.  The  wires  groan 
and  chant  their  well-practiced  requiem.  The  poles  sway  like 
masts  of  "some  tall  admiral."  Twenty-five  thousand  people 
grow  stony-eyed  and  sick  with  terror. 

"  HUBBY  UP  THEBE,  BILL  ! "  roar  all  the  fog-horns,  as 
though  Jericho's  walls  had  toppled. 


CHAPTER  V. 

SOME    NEWS    FOB    DANIEL. 

IN  an  incredibly  short  time  a  long  wagon  had  rushed  under 
the  wires,  and  a  ladder  standing  straight  up  was  shot,  by 
lengthening  apparatus,  to  the  height  of  the  pole.  Like  a 
cat  a  man  ran  up  the  swaying  ladder,  and  the  crowd,  fearing 
that  the  machine  would  fall  over,  surged  backward  upon 
itself.  Another  climber  followed  closely  after  the  first  res- 
cuer, and  as  they  cried  to  Daniel  a  hush  went  across  the  sea 
of  faces.  In  a  second  that  hush  swept  from  Canal  to  Halsted 
street,  five  blocks. 

"Hang  on,  Dan,  me  boy  !     We're  here  !"  they  said. 

The  crowd  heard  it  far  away.  But  Daniel  was  only  a 
dumb  body,  struggling  like  a  wild  beast  in  «i  snare.  The 
commotion  in  the  wires  was  something  to  frighten  a  stout 
heart,  The  athletic  body  curved  and  writhed,  and.  sought 


36  DANIEL  TRENTWOETHT. 

some  immovable  thing.  As  the  climber  touched  Daniel  he 
was  aroused  to  another  paroxysm  of  effort. 

The  crowd  broke  forth  again:  "He'll  fall  yet!  Get  a 
rope  ! " 

"  Hurry  up  there,  Bill  !  "  bellowed  the  trumpet. 

And,  surely  enough,  up  the  ladder  went  another  fireman 
with  a  rope.  There  was  a  greao  noose  in  it.  As  ineffectual 
efforts  were  made  to  throw  the  rope  upward  and  around  the 
flying  limbs  of  the  wretched  man,  the  ladder  would  wave 
far  from  a  perpendicular.  The  crowd  rushed  forward  and 
scrambled  on  the  great  wagon  to  give  the  contrivance  a 
steadier  base. 

At  last  a  cheer  rolled  in  from  the  outlying  ranks.  They 
had  seen  the  noose  rise  up  around  Daniel  and  inclose  his 
body.  He  was  safe.  Hurrah !  hurrah !  The  dead  were 
forgotten  in  the  joy  for  the  living.  But  Daniel,  as  he  felt 
the  rope,  supposed  it  to  be  only  the  beginning  of  the  end — 
some  greater  despair  that  had  fastened  on  him.  Not  only 
did  he  struggle  to  reach  some  solid  support,  but  he  franti- 
cally sought  to  detach  ths  rope. 

"  Steady,  boys  !  He's  crazy  as  a  loon.  We  must  go  slow 
or  he'll  throw  us  off." 

Daniel  hung  by  the  two  wires  nearest  the  fire.     His  body 

ngled.  The  men  pulled  the  rope  gently,  and  he,  letting 
go  with  one  hand  to  relieve  the  pain,  would  clutch  a  wire 
nearer  to  the  ladder. 

"Now,  when  he  takes  the  next  wire,  catch  his  hand.  Give 
me  a  firm  hold  on  your  belt,  my  lad.  And  you,  Jerry,  hold 
fast  to  me.  Don't  be  afraid  of  the  ladder.  It  can't  go  past 
the  wires." 

Thus  repared,  they  once  more  tightened  the  rope.  To- 
ward them,  with  blood-shot,  protruding  eyes  and  bleeding 
face,  came  poor  Daniel.  He  reached  a  torn  hand  forward, 
with  the  pitiful  fear  and  doubt  of  a  man  who  hoped  for  noth- 
ing. He  felt  a  warm  and  soft  grasp.  Quick  as  lightning 


SOME  NEWS  FOR  DANIEL.  37 

the  other  hand  clutched  for  the  same  strong  and  friendly  arm 
and  the  top  man  was  nearly  wrenched  from  the  ladder. 

The  crowd  expected  all  four  men  to  come  down  in  a  mass. 
The  ladder  swung  away  from  the  wire;  it  creaked  and  turned 
on  the  pole  of  its  axis. 

But  those  brave  men  had  gone  up  that  ladder  to  save  Dan- 
iel. They  fastened  upon  him  like  leeches.  "Let him  touch 
the  ladder,  boys !  "  one  of  them  said.  And  thus  Daniel  was 
quieted  into  insensibility.  Down  they  came.  A  stretcher 
was  at  the  wagon. 

"  This  is  my  number,"  said  Harmon  Holebroke.  "  Take 
him  to  my  house,  257  South  Clinton  street." 

The  nearest  of  the  crowd  strove  to  look  at  the  young  man 
who  had  slipped  through  death's  door.  Many  of  them 
fainted. 

Never  had  Chicago  mourned  as  she  mourned  for  the  loss 
of  her  three  firemen.  Could  money  have  restored  them, 
millions  would  have  been  poured  out.  There  came  a  funeral, 
the  greatest  that  had  coursed  the  streets  since  the  pageant 
of  Abraham  Lincoln.  The  police  in  platoons,  the  Mayor, 
the  old  settlers,  the  fire  engines  draped,  the  catafalque,  the 
knights,  companions,  brethren,  and  members  of  every  asso- 
ciation in  the  city,  and  interminable  lines  of  citizens  in  car- 
riages and  on  foot.  Few  men  are  so  remembered.  Many 
men  would  die  for  such  a  memorial.  The  great  bell  tolled 
all  day  long,  a  truly  solemn  performance,  and  one  that  gave 
thought  even  to  the  unthinking. 

Then  after  the  trappings  and  the  suits  of  woe  there 
came  the  demand,  loud  and  angry,  for  a  scapegoat.  The 
Board  was  to  investigate  the  matter.  Who  was  to  blame  ? 

Now  a  political  investigation  is  a  bird  of  a  queer  feather. 
Looking  at  ft  as  we  do,  one  would  not  think  that  Daniel 
Trentworthy  was  to  be  blamed  for  the  order  of  his  superior 
or  the  rottenness  of  that  roof,  yet  if  we  consider  that  Daniel 
was  already  a  marked  man,  who  had  bidden  defiance  to  the 


38.  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

"  inflooence"  of  De  Koven  street, we  shall  discover  that  he  was 
seriously  compromised.  Why  was  he  not  killed  ?  So  the 
relatives  of  the  three  other  victims  asked.  Politically,  it  was 
clear  that  Daniel  promised  to  furnish  an  acceptable  scape- 
goat. The  Board  erased  his  name  from  the  rolls,  De  Koven 
street  gave  its  unanimous  approval,  and  the  wonderful  city, 
grumbling  a  little,  settled  back  to  await  the  next  matter  of 
importance,  which  was  to  be  the  opening  of  the  Pacific  rail- 
ways. 

For  weeks  Daniel  Trentworthy  could  not  sleep.  To  drop 
into  a  doze  of  exhaustion  was  to  seize  a  small  wire  and  dan- 
gle fifty  feet  above  the  ground.  To  close  his  eyes  was  to 
see  the  horrid  pit  of  flame  and  stagger  in  the  heat  that  leaped 
toward  him  out  of  the  red  depths.  He  had  saved  himself 
by  his  nerve,  and  now,  the  doctors  said,  he  must  suffer  the 
consequences. 

How  grand  a  character  is  that  mother  in  Israel  who  pays 
little  attention  to  the  social  " duties"  of  women,  being  com- 
pelled to  visit  the  sick  and  lay  out  the  dead !  How  often 
we  say  :  "  I  would  have  been  over  to  your  house,  but  that  I 
had  an  important  engagement."  Harriet  Holebroke,  Har- 
mon's mother,  had  no  important  engagements.  She  went  to 
no  dinner  parties.  She  spent  no  evenings  in  the  civilities 
of  neighborhood  life.  But  if  she  heard  a  neighbor  were 
ill,  she  put  on  her  bonnet  and  went.  Even  in  summer,  when 
her  strawberries  needed  attention  sorely,  when  the  sparrows 
were  counting  her  cherries,  she  put  on  her  bonnet  and  went. 
If  the  doctor  could  not  stop  the  paroxysms,  she,  with  her 
great  bag  of  hops,  might  do  it.  Life  is  a  stern  thing.  She 
knew  it.  Yet  she  never  said  it. 

Into  her  hands  had  Daniel  fallen.  It  was  very  well  for 
him.  She  went  about  curing  him  in  her  methodical  manner. 
"  Humph  !  "  she  said  dryly,  "  he  will  get  well." 

And  finally,  Daniel  turned  on  his  couch.  Mary  Holebroke 
pat  at  the  window. 


SOME  NEWS  FOR  DANIEL.  39 

"Ah  !  "  thought  Daniel,  "my  angel  is  with  me.  I  felt  her 
presence  when  I  was  on  the  wall.  She  has  nursed  me, 
'  Oh !  woman,  in  our  hours  of  ease  ! ' ' 

"You  are  better,  aren't  you,  Daniel?"  she  said,  looking  at 
him  with  her  gray  eyes. 

"  I  should  have  been  better  before  had  I  known  you  were 
here,''  he  said,  his  face  beaming  with  a  smile. 

The  maid's  countenance  grew  cold.  She  looked  out  of  the 
xfindow.  She  was  uneasy.  "Oh,  what  is  that  in  the 
garden  ?  "  she  exclaimed,  and  ran  to  see. 

Poor  Daniel !  He  tried  to  gather  his  thoughts.  Was  not 
this  Mary  Holebroke,  who  had  played  for  him  ?  Were  they 
not  lovers  ?  Had  she  not  nursed  him  ?  Ah  !  now  he  had 
it.  Alas  !  what  a  sick  man  he  must  have  been!  He  had 
never  whispered  a  word  of  his  love  for  the  gray-eyed  maid. 
He  had  blundered.  He  tried  to  leap  from  the  bed  and  look 
in  the  garden.  He  was  so  lonesome  he  could  not  bear  her 
absence.  But  the  exertion  showed  him  his  weakness.  He 
fell  back  with  a  moan,  and  Mrs.  Holebroke,  entering,  pro- 
tested firmly  that  he  must  lie  still,  and  that  Mary  must  keep 
out  of  the  sick-room. 

Daniel  wondered  at  that,  too.  "  Surely  she  has  aided  in 
nursing  me!"  he  thought.  "Will  she  ever  speak  to  me 
again  ?  What  a  strange  fate  drove  me  to  open  my  eyes, 
feeling  that  I  was  in  Paradise  !  What  a  perverse  thing  is 
the  heart !  It  was  awake,  and  the  mind  was  still  asleep. 
A  truant  heart — a  truant  heart !  I've  lost  her  !  "  he  Availed. 
"  I've  lost  her  ! " 

He  was  too  weak  to  bear  the  excitement  of  the  moment. 
His  forehead  broke  out  in  sweat,  and  he  fell  into  a  sleep. 

"  Mary,"  said  Mrs.  Holebroke,  "  I  told  you  not  to  disturb 
Daniel." 

"Yes,  mamma.  I  sat  quietly  at  the  window.  He  awoke 
and  spoke  to  me.  I  saw  his  mind  was  wandering,  and  ran 
out  as  fast  as  I  could." 


40  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

"Mary,"  said  the  mother,  "Daniel  Trentworthy  is  a  good 
young  man.  He  lias  acted  as  if  he  cared  for  you.  Do  not  let 
him  believe  you  return  his  feelings,  unless  you  are  quite  sure 
about  it.  You  are  exactly  like  your  aunt,  Mary,  and  she 
never  married,  although  she  had  dozens  of  opportunities." 

"  Oh  !  I  shall  marry,"  said  Mary,  tossing  her  head.  Young 
ladies  consider  that  affair  entirely  their  own. 

"  Well,  I  do  not  want  to  see  you  trifling  with  Daniel. 
You  hear  what  I  say,  do  you  not  ?  " 

"  There  comes  the  ice-man.  Yes  we  want  ice  all  summer. 
Sixty  cents  a  week !  Dear  me,  it  was  only  forty  last  year. 
Mamma,  forty  cents  a  week  ! " 

Mother  and  daughter  completely  misunderstood  each 
other.  The  daughter  rebelled  at  her  mother's  methods,  econ- 
omies and  ideas  of  duty. 

And  Daniel  Trentworthy,  starting  from  another  short 
sleep,  wherein  he  had  fought  against  letting  the  rescuers 
take  him  from  the  wires,  found  his  forehead  getting  cold  and 
sweaty  and  his  heart  thumping  until  it  hurt  him,  because 
he  remembered  how  greatly  he  had  errc-d  in  supposing 
that  he  and  Mary  had  pledged  their  love  for  each  other. 

"  She  will  not  forgive  me.  She  thought  I  took  too  much 
for  granted.  I  do  not  blame  her.  How  could  I  blame  her 
for  aii3Tthing  ?  I  am'  so  glad  I  was  saved.  And  yet,  why 
was  I  not  killed  and  the  boys  with  families  spared  ?  " 

Thus  his  emotions  swayed.  He  was  glad,  and  now  he 
was  sorry.  It  all  depended  on  Mary. 

"  She  will  not  forgive  me  ! "  the  sick  man  moaned. 

The  piano  poured  a  gay  flood  of  notes  over  the  house. 
Daniel  was  in  heaven  again. 

"M'appari" — "It  was  a  dream."  The  chords  came  to 
him  as  a  message  of  peace.  How  often  had  he  whistled  the 
air.  He  thought  of  his  flute.  "  I  will  be  a  virtuoso  yet," 
he  cried.  "M'appari!  She  loves  me.  I  would  not  have 
escaped  had  she  loved  me  not." 


SOME  NEWS  FOR  DANIEL.  41 

"Daniel,"  said  Mrs.  Holebroke,  "you  are  not  keeping 
still  enough.  I  shall  send  for  the  doctor  if  your  color  does 
not  go  in  a  little  while." 

"  I  feel  much  better,  Mrs.  Holebroke,"  he  said. 

The  piano  ebbed  away.  It  stopped.  Mary,  portfolio  in 
hand,  passed  the  door.  She  looked  in. 

"Good  morning,"  said  Daniel,  because  he  dared  to  say 
nothing  else. 

"  I  am  going  to  write  a  letter  to  Mercy.  Shall  I  send  her 
your  love  ? " 

"  Mercy  is  a  pretty  name.     Yes,  send  her  my  love." 

And  with  that  the  maiden  passed  on.  The  piano  had 
whispered  her  love  for  him.  But  that  gray  eye !  Was  it 
not  cold  ? 

Daniel  was  not  so  happy.  He  could  only  get  peace  when 
he  thought  of  the  music  from  "  Martha."  "  Why  did  she 
play  it  ?  Why  did  she  play  all  my  pieces  ? "  he  asked. 
"  Oh,  the  minx  ;  she  loves  me.  She  loves  me." 

This  enabled  him  to  sleep.  And  sleep  is  good  medicine 
for  weak  nerves. 

The  maid  wrote,  at  her  window : 

"  MY  DEAR  Sis  :  We  are  still  in  this  prosy  cit}*-,  on  this 
dusty  Clinton  street,  and  very  little  has  happened  since  my 
last.  Daniel  Trentworthy,  Harmon's  friend,  is  still  in  bed 
all  the  time,  and  I  wish  he  would  get  well.  You  know  I 
told  you  how  we  '  played  duets '  together  before  he  was 
hurt.  It  was  odd,  wasn't  it  ?  I  couldn't  get  over  it.  And 
he  never  tired,  it  seemed  to  me.  Harmon  teased  me  about 
him  until  I  almost  dreaded  the  sight  of  him. 

"Well,  of  course,  when  they  brought  him  home  so  nearly 
dead,  that  was  an  end  of  the  whistling.  And  what  do  you 
think  he  had  done,  just  before  the  fire?  Why,  to  be  sure, 
IK  goes  and  buys  a  costly  flute,  on  purpose  to  play  with  me. 
You  know  that  boy  who  drove  us  wild  at  Lima,  with  practic- 
ing the  flute  ?  That,  I  thought,  was  the  worst !  Since  he's 


42  DANIEL  TttENTWOnTUY. 

been  sick,  laws  !  mother  doesn't  think  there's  anybody  else 
in  the  house.  It  used  to  be  Harmon  ;  now  it's  Daniel  this, 
and  Daniel  that.  <  You'll  wake  Daniel ! '  or  '  Wouldn't 
Daniel  like  some  of  that  ? ' 

"  He  has  an  honest  way  about  him  that  I  kind  o'  like. 
He's  a  queer  old  fellow.  Sometimes,  when  he  is  so  tender 
and  thankful  to  me  I  feel  quite  pleased.  But  my  !  Merce, 
you  needn't  fear  that  I  shall  lose  my  head,  even  if  he  does 
lose  his.  He  is  nothing  but  a  poor  young  man.  Of  course, 
he's  smart.  I  never  saw  so  smart  a  fellow.  But  what  is 
he  ?  A  fireman.  Dear  me  !  that  was  a  dreadful  escape  he 
had !  And,  it  seems,  he  has  lost  his  place  on  the  force. 
What  he'll  do  next  must  be  determined.  But  you  know 
Harmon.  He'd  keep  the  whole  fire  department  if  it  got  out 
of  a  place.  Dear  me  !  you  and  mother  and  Harm  are  all  too 
good  for  me ! 

"  You  know  I  am  not  out  of  high  school  yet.  I  haven't 
finished  flirting  with  the  car  conductors  on  West  Madison 
street.  Some  of  them  are  too  sweet  for  any  single  thing. 
There  is  one  who  wears  a  blue  coat  and  has  a  mustache.  I 
wish  our  poor,  sick  Daniel  had  that  mustache  !  There  I  go 
again  !  As  I  said,  I  am  not  yet  out  of  school.  And  my 
heart  is  set  on  the  tour  in  Europe.  I  want  a  piano  lesson 
in  Europe.  I  don't  care  if  it  lasts  only  half  an  hour.  A 
half  hour  with  Liszt  or  Von  Billow  !  I  think  I  could  make 
it  worth  something  ;  don't  you  ? 

"  How  am  I  to  get  it  !  Merce,  I'm  going  to  marry  for  it, 
as  sure  as  you're  born.  If  Daniel  had  money — there,  you 
see  !  You'll  be  sure  Daniel  will  get  me.  But  he  will  do  no 
such  thing,  Sister  Merce  !  And  I  will  tell  you  why.  Because 
I  can  carry  my  eggs  to  a  better  market.  Daniel  is  all  Tery 
well.  I  think  he  aids  me  with  my  music.  I  declare,  not 
one  person  in  fifty  but  likes  <Le  Sabre  de  Mon  Pere'  better 
than  the  'Traumerei!'  It's  different  with  Daniel.  lam 
quite  sure  I  love  him  when  I  hear  him  praising  good  music. 


SOME  NEWS  FOR  LANIEL.  43 

His  tastes  are   good.     He    was    not  always   a  fireman,  Sis. 

"  And  now  I  am  going  to  tell  you  something  that  I  ought 
to  have  written  before — so  you  will  say.  Who  do  you  sup- 
pose is  taking  me  out  driving  every  time  he  can  get  a  chance  ? 
Who  took  me  to  see  Davenport  and  Wallack  act  ?  Who 
took  me  to  hear  Piccolomini  sing  ?  Bouquet,  book  for  the 
opera,  oysters,  carriage.  Is  it  not  nice  ?  I  took  the  flowers 
to  school  next  day.  The  girls  were  just  wild.  '  Well,  never 
mind/  you  say,  'but  who  was  it  ?'  Who  was  it  ?  Whom  do 
you  think  ?  Why,  Alderman  Errington,  the  handsomest, 
dashingest  bachelor  on  the  West  Side.  The  girls  adore  him. 
They  say  he's  as  rich  as  a  Turk. 

"Do  I  like  him?  I  like  him  as  well  as  he  likes  me. 
When  he  gets  warmer  I'll  thaw  out,  too.  He  is  too  con- 
ceited for  any  use  outside  of  a  circus.  He  just  thinks  if  he 
smiles  and  sends  around  a  note  and  stops  in  front  of  your 
house  with  his  carriage  that  the  girl  ought  to  be  too  happy. 
He  asks  all  the  girls — all  who  have  any  style.  He  sent  me 
an  invitation  to  go  to  see  the  Union  Pacific  parade.  I 
answered  that  I  must  be  excused,  as  we  had  illness  at  home. 
Then  three  of  us  girls  went  down  on  Wabash  avenue  and 
stood  three  hours,  and  I  was  mortally  afraid  he  might  come 
along.  That  brought  him  around  the  next  night. 

"  '  Who  is  ill  ? '  he  asked. 

"  '  Daniel  Trentworthy,'  "  said  I,  innocently,  as  though  lie 
ought  to  know. 

"  '  Oh  yes,'  he  said.  'I  did  not  know  you  thought  so  much 
of  him.' 

"  '  Yes,'  I  said,  '  Daniel  is  Harmon's  best  friend.  We 
knew  him  before  he  came  here.' 

"'You  did?'  said  Mr.  Alderman,  fidgeting. 

"  'Oh,  yes,'  I  replied.  '  Daniel  is  no  new  acquaintance.  Is 
it  not  nice,  Mr.  Errington,  to  have  old  friends — friends  of 
years  ? ' 

"  '  Yes,  yes  ; '  he  said,  '  but  you  do  not  mean  to  say  that 


44  DANIEL  TRENT  WORTHY. 

you   stay   in  all  the   time   on    account  of   Trentworthy  ? ' 

"'  Oh,  no,  indeed.  But  there  was  no  school  the  day  of 
the  celebration,  and  I  wanted  to  relieve  mother  that  day  ? ' 

" '  That's  right  ! '  he  said.  '  But  he  looked  relieved.  He's 
about  thirty-five  years  old,  and  I'm  seventeen.  Twice  seven- 
teen is  thirty-four.  Daniel  can  whistle  '  Di  Quella  Pira,' 
arid  Errington  came  near  going  to  sleep  when  Brignoli  sang 
it  the  other  night  at  the  opera  house.  But  my  new  beau 
could  take  me  to  Europe  and  Daniel  would  have  to  whistle 
for  it.  The  girls  all  envy  me,  and  the  old  maids  are  just 
green,  they  are  so  mad.  Mother  will  not  let  me  go  but  one 
night  a  week.  Isn't  that  like  her  ?  He  goes  three  or  four 
nights.  He  told  me  he  went  alone  twice,  but  I  didn't  be- 
lieve him. 

"  Now,  Merce,  I've  told  you  all.  Don't  lecture  me.  It's  no 
use.  If  you  pity  Daniel,  come  home  and  marry  him.  Mother 
says  he  oughtn't  to  think  of  marrying  for  ten  years  yet,  and 
you  know  you  think  that  whatever  mother  doesn't  know  can't 
be  picked  up  at  Holyoke  or  Vassar. 

"  Good-by,  and  don't  come  home  till  I  get  my  fish  landed 
— that's  a  good  sis.  You  are  too  old-maidish  for  most  men, 
but  who  can  tell  but  what,  with  your  good  looks,  you  might 
take  my  lord's  fancy  and  cut  me  out  completely  ?  No,  you 
had  better  take  Daniel. 

"  Write  me  a  long  letter  like  this,  I  am  so  lonesome  with- 
out you  that  I  am  afraid  you  will  take  my  nonsense  to  heart. 
Your  sister, 

MARY." 

She  addressed  her  letter,  closed  her  portfolio,  started  from 
the  room,  and  stopped  at  Daniel's  door.  His  face  lighted  up 
once  more.  He  was  so  glad  she  had  come. 

u  What  will  you  do  when  you  get  well,  Mr.  Trentworthy  ?  " 
she  asked — she  seemed  to  say  it  with  her  cold,  gray  oyes. 

"  I  will  go  back  to  the  Long  John  engine  house/'  said 
Daniel. 


"GOOD-J1Y,  DANIEL."  45 

"  Didn't  you  know  they  had  put  you  off  the  force  ?  "  and 
her  eyes  grew  larger. 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  said  Daniel,  and  he  fell  backward  off  the 
parapet,  just  as  he  had  meant  to  leap  for  the  wires. 


CHAPTER  VI, 

"  GOOD-BY,  DANIEL." 

IT  is  a  serious  thing  to  jump  from  the  parapet  of  a  side 
wall.  It  is  a  terrible  thing  to  save  one's  self  by  the  teeth 
among  a  hundred  treacherous  wires  that  snap  and  cut  and 
wriggle  as  if  they  were  snakes  with  poisoned  fangs.  It  is  a 
pitiable  thing  to  lie  weak  and  distracted  on  a  sick-bed,  just 
alive  and  little  more.  It  is  a  cruel  thing  to  see  one's  be- 
loved willing  to  stay  away  from  the  bedside  of  the  stricken 
one.  It  is  a  bitter  thing  to  be  told  that  Aldermanic  influ- 
ences have  taken  advantage  of  a  sick  man's  helplessness  to 
oust  him  from  a  place  he  had  filled  with  bravery  and  fidelity. 
And  how  barbaric  is  that  fate  which  puts  the  word  of  mis- 
fortune into  the  mouth  of  the  angel  for  whom  the  sick  man 
would  willingly  once  more  stand  on  the  wall  and  confront 
the  leaping  element ! 

"  Something  happened  to  him,  mother.  I  know  it,"  said 
the  gentle  Harmon.  "  He  was  improving.  Now  he  looks 
bad  again.  Did  any  one  call  ?  " 

"No,"  said  the  mother.  "He  saw  Mary  for  a  moment.  I 
hea»d  them  speaking  casually.  There  was  no  protracted 
conversation." 

"  Daniel  thinks  too  much  of  Mary,"  said  Harmon. 

*  Yes,  Daniel  is  foolish,  like  all  honest  young  men,"   said 


46  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

the  mother.  "  I  declare  L  feel  as  if  the  scapegraces  were  the 
only  young  fellows  who  know  how  to  win  the  graces  of  a  girl. 
Mary  is  too  young  to  think  of  anything  serious  for  five 
years." 

"She  is  seventeen,  isn't  she  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  You  married  when  you  were  fifteen,  I've  heard  you  say." 

'•  Harmon,  that  was  years  ago,  in  York  State.  My  daugh- 
ters shall  never  do  it." 

"No,  I  guess  they  will  never  marry  that  early,  mother." 

They  walked  toward  Daniel's  room. 

"  Yes,  Doctor,"  Daniel  said,  as  he  tossed  about.  "  I'll 
have  to  leave  college.  I  would  go  to  Chicago,  but  they  have 
put  me  out  of  the  department  there.  An  Alderman  named 
Errington  has  pursued  me  relentlessly  to  oblige  a  con- 
stituent. No,  I  can't  go  to  Chicago." 

"  How  does  he  know  he's  off  the  force  ?  "  asked  the  son. 

"That  I  don't  know,  Harmon." 

"  Who  saw  him  to-day  ?  " 

"  Mary,  you  and  I." 

"  You  didn't  tell  him,  did  you  ?  " 

"  No,  of  course  not.     I  was  leaving  that  for  you." 

"  Then  Mary  told  him.  Mother,  Mary  is  the  coldest-blood- 
ed girl  I  ever  met,  if  she  is  my  sister." 

"  Mary  is  a  queer  child,  my  son.  But  she  is  a  great  deal 
to  us." 

"  Yes,  yes,  mother.  Don't  worry  for  her.  Wasn't  she 
out  with  Errington  lately  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Well,  that  accounts  for  the  milk  in  the  cocoanut. 
Mother,  I'm  sorry  to  see  that  man  come  in  our  house." 

"Daniel,  we  must  be  civil."  • 

"Well,  you  know  Mary.  She  is  too  ambitious.  She  has 
absurd  notions.  She  is  bright,  and  plays  well.  They  puff 
her  at  the  church  concerts  until  she  loses  her  head.  She 


"GOOD-BY,  DANIEL."  47 

goes  round  selling  tickets,  and  in  that  way  gets  acquainted 
with  many  people  whom  she  ought  never  to  know.  Erring- 
ton  bought  fifty  tickets  to  the  last  concert." 

"Yes." 

"  Now,  he  had  no  use  for  those  tickets.  He  has  no  friends 
in  the  congregation.  He  merely  did  it  to  please  Mary. 
The  concert,  I  think,  profits  at  her  expense.  I  don't  like 
the  man.  I  don't  believe  he  is  sincere,  and  he  has  misused 
that  poor  boy  to  oblige  the  crowd  over  there  on  Jefferson 
street.  I  am  going  to  talk  to  Mary." 

"  I  wish  you  would  not,  my  son.  She  does  not  take  ad- 
vice well." 

"  Indeed,  I  do  not,"  said  the  gray-eyed  maid,  who  had  en- 
tered rather  noiselessly. 

"Mary,"  said  Harmon,  "between  you  and  Errington  you 
have  pretty  nearly  killed  that  poor  boy  in  there." 

"Now,  Harmon,  don't  be  silly.  Mr.  Errington  is  a  gentle- 
man, and  I  hope  you  will  let  him  see  we  also  have  some 
manners." 

A  high  school  miss  hisses  the  word  gentleman.  She  uses 
it  very  often,  and  very  often  she  has  little  use  for  a  man  who 
has  earned  the  title,  even  without  great  emphasis. 

"  Mary,  where  do  you  pick  up  these  ward  politicians  ?  I 
never  see  you  at  the  primaries." 

"Be  kind  enough  to  keep  your  insults,  Mr.  Harmon  Hole- 
broke.  Mr.  Errington  is  coming  to  take  me  to  the  new 
South  Park  this  very  afternoon." 

"Harmon,  is  that  you  ?  "  asked  Daniel. 

The  mother,  son  and  daughter  started,  almost  guiltily. 

"Why,  yes,  God  bless  you,  Dan  !  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you 
in  your  right  mind.  I'm  so  glad." 

"  Harmon,  they  have  put  me  out." 

"  Never  mind  that,  Dan.  I  have  another  place  for  you 
as  soon  as  you  are  well.  But  you're  a  strange  patient.  This 
morning,  they  say  you  are  all  right.  A  half  hour  ago  your 


48  DANIEL  TREVTWORTHT. 

mind  was  wandering.  Now  you  are  as  straight  as  a  string 
again." 

The  soft  chords  of  Chopin's  Moonlight  sonata  began  to 
pervade  that  humble  home.  They  all  liked  Mary's  playing. 
They  were  all  proud  of  her.  She  had  a  strange  magnetism 
that  attracted  young  and  old  alike.  In  a  new  country  talent 
brings  a  big  price. 

"Yes,  I  feel  very  much  better." 

"  She  plays  for  me,"  he  thought. 

"  I  ought  to  play  this  more,"  she  thought.  "  I  will,  when 
Daniel  gets  out  of  the  house. 

"Harmon,  when  I  get  well,  I  feel  like  going  over  on  De- 
Koven  street  and  whaling  two  men,  just  to  let  off  steam." 

"Oh!  pshaw,  Dan.  I'm  glad  you're  out  of  the  engine- 
house.  You  would  have  been  a  bully  in  a  year." 

"  That  man  whom  the  printers  call  '  Hogmouth,'  and  his 
Alderman,  a  flashy  politician  named  Errington — you  know 
him.  Those  are  the  two  men  who  have  been  after  me  ever 
since  I  ran  against  the  first  of  them.  Harmon,  does  the  best 
man  always  get  the  worst  of  it  in  Chicago  ?  " 

"No,  Daniel." 

"Well,  do  you  think  that  a  ward-heeler  like  Errington 
ought  to  triumph  over  a  decent  fellow  like  me  ?  Do  you 
think  that  I  ought  to  stand  it  ?  Do  you  believe  my  father 
ever  stood  such  a  thing  ?  " 

The  door-bell  rang. 

"  Miss  Mary,  it's  Mr.  Errington,  with  his  carriage,"  yelled 
the  hired  girl. 

The  Moonlight  sonata  ceased. 

Daniel's  eyes  were  again  protruding  from  his  head.  He 
reached  forward  and  closed  his  torn  hand  with  a  fearful  grip 
on  Harmon's  shoulder. 

"  Say,  Harmon,"  he  swallowed,  "  that  girl  said  it  was  Er- 
ringtoii." 

"  Yes,  Daniel,  that  was  what  she  said," 


"GOOD-BY,  DANIEL."  4<j 

"And  she  called  Mary." 

There  was  nothing  to  deny. 

u  Are  you  ready  ?  Mr.  Errington  wants  to  know.  He 
can't  come  in  and  leave  the  horses,"  the  girl  screamed,  so 
that  the  girls  in  the  next  house  might  not  by  any  chance 
miss  the  fine  spectacle. 

"  Tell  him  I  will  he  there  in  a  minute,"  said  a  low  voice. 
But  Daniel  could  have  heard  it  had  she  whispered. 

"It  is  true,  isn't  it,  Harmon  ?.  It  is  Errington  himself, 
and  he  has  come  to  take  Mary  out  riding.  Did  I  deserve 
this  ?  " 

"  No,  God  bless  you  !  "  Harmon  could  not  talk.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  if  Daniel  knew  Mary  better  he  would  not  suffer. 
But  Harmon  could  not  say  this  of  his  own  sister. 

The  sick  man  fell  back  on  his  pillow.  His  temples  beat 
like  the  drums  in  war-times.  It  was  a  trial  to  live — simply 
to  live. 

A  fresh  and  joyous  face  appeared  at  the  door,  a  jaunty 
spring  hat,  a  glove  button  in  mouth,  a  glove  that  would  not 
button.  "  Thou  knowest  my  favorite  ward,  Hal.  Here  stood 
I."  That  is  the  favorite  ward  of  a  maiden  who  has  some- 
thing to  say.  She  works  as  though  she  were  defeated,  and 
talks  as  though  it  were  "  on  the  side  " — a  secondary  thing. 

A  moment  before,  the  sick  man  had  Iain  exhausted  on  his 
pillow,  and  Harmon  had  cast  his  eye  toward  the  bottle  of 
restorative.  Now  Daniel's  eye  brightened.  It  was  the  pict- 
ure of  the  being  he  loved.  He  loved  her,  though  she  loved 
him  nof.  Yes,  he  loved  her.  There  was  none  like  her. 
Had  he  not  scanned  all  the  women  in  Chicago  week  after 
week  ?  She  was  not  only  young  and  beautiful ;  she  was  in- 
nocent and  good.  She  was  his,  becaiise  he  loved  her.  His 
eyes  gathered  upon  her  as  a  dog  looks  at  the  master  who  has 
returned  from  a  long  journey.  He  had  forgotten  the  man 
out  in  front. 

A  moment  before  he  had  believed  her  perfidious.     No\v 
4 


50  DANIEL  TEENTW011THY. 

she  was  an  angel.  Had  she  been  a  fury,  he  would  still  have 
been  her  slave.  A  moment  before  he  had  done  with  her. 
Now  he  strove  to  detain  her,  if  only  for  a  moment.  She  had 
a  right  to  ride  if  Errington  chose  to  take  her.  He  could 
not  have  suspected  Daniel's  affection.  Yet  he  could,  for  all 
men  must  love  her.  Had  not  Daniel  pitied  all  the  married 
men  he  saw  because  they  could  not  even  hope  to  have  his 
Mary  ?  And  was  he  not,  even  now,  better  off  than  any 
married  man  ? 

" Good-by,  Daniel,"  she  said.  "I'm  going  riding  with  a 
friend. " 

He  must  conceal  his  feelings.  Jealousy  would  destroy  his 
hopes.  He  smiled  his  approval,  and  the  beads  of  perspiration 
from  weakness  stood  on  his  white  forehead. 

"Will  you  go  riding  with  me  ?  "  he  said.  "After  I  get 
stronger,  I  mean. " 

•"  Of  course  I  will,"  she  smiled. 

He  was  again  happy.     But  she  saw  it. 

"  I  would  go  riding  with  anybody  who  had  a  nice  turnout," 
she  said,  demurely. 

There  was  a  rattle  of  light  wheels,  and  Harmon  slipped 
out  of  the  chamber.  The  coverlet  began  rolling  forward  on 
Daniel,  the  trumpets  began  their  harsh  commands,  the  wires 
swayed  toward  the  flames,  the  tunnel  loomed  up  far  ahead 
of  him,  and  the  man  with  the  wide  jaw,  and  with  Mary's 
calm,  gray  eye  fastened  the  boy's  attention  on  a  great  badge, 
and  led  him  off  to  the  Girard  House,  where  the  smell  of  garlic 
acquainted  him  with  a  new  horror  of  city  life. 

That  is  a  fever.  Great  would  be  the  physician  who  should 
be  able  to  diagnose  the  suffering  of  his  patient  and  stop  that 
in-rolling  from  the  windows  and  toward  the  pillow. 

Thus  went  the  afternoon.  At  last  a  strain  of  music  stole 
up  the  stairs.  It  was  a  tarantelle,  fanciful,  odd,  like  the  gray- 
eyed  maid.  The  coverlet  began  to  roll  back  where  it  be- 
longed; the  trees  of  Cambridge  began  to  send  out  their  per- 


IN  THE  TOILS  Off  LOVE.  51 

fume  ;    the  white-haired  poet  came  by,  and  the   children  ran 
to  be  kissed. 

Mary  was  home  and  Daniel  slept  well. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

IN  THE  TOILS  OF  LOVE. 

A  YOUNG  man,  without  father,  mother,  brother  or  sister, 
lives  for  himself  until  he  falls  in  love.  His  first  impres- 
sions of  the  grand  passion  are  agreeable. 

When  Mary  Holebroke  pinned  the  sprig  of  green  on 
Daniel's  coat  that  calm  afternoon  the  young  man  had  gone 
back  to  the  engine  house  with  the  feeling  that  he  had  some- 
thing worth  keeping.  He  was  inclined  to  boast  that  he  had  a 
girl — a  best  girl,  as  the  saying  went.  He  felt  that  in  many 
ways  it  would  add  to  the  enjoyments  of  life  to  take  heron  his 
arm  and  challenge,  as  it  were,  some  one  to  make  faces  at  her 
or  in  any  way  to  reflect  discreditably  on  her  looks.  These 
thoughts  took  more  definite  shape  the  very  next  time  he  whis- 
tled at  her  piano.  She  had  been  a  little  late,  had  been  what  she 
called  distrait — all  high  school  girls  delight  in  being  distrait, 
or  calling  it  that.  She  had  told  him  she  intended  to  go  to 
Europe,  and  had  given  him  about  the  year — say  1870  or  1871 — 
that  would  suit  her  best.  Altogether,  Daniel  had  been  seared. 
He  went  back  to  the  engine  house,  and  when  the  bo}^s  allud- 
ed to  "  his  girl,"  turned  the  subject  as  adroitly  as  he  could. 
The  feeling  was  coming  on  him  that  the  maiden  had  a  mind 
of  her  own,  and  would  undoubtedly  exercise  it  with  regard 
to  the  man  she  might  honor.  He  knew  her  because  he  lived 
at  her  mother's.  The  advantages  he  enjoyed  grew  out  of 
this  chance  alone. 


52  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHT. 

A  young  man  in  a  great  city,  without  family,  approaches 
the  natural  state  of  his  species.  Daniel  gazed  on  the  demure 
Mary  Holebroke  and  felt  that  the  proper  thing  to  do  would 
be  to  carry  her  off.  It  seemed  to  him  that  it  was  unfair  to 
place  him  in  the  predicament  of  necessarily  pleasing  her 
ladyship.  To  abduct  her  and  ride  in  triumph  back  to  his 
own  tribe  would  be  a  brave  act,  and  would  surely  win  her 
love.  What  odds,  though,  as  to  her  love  ?  He  would  love  her. 

But  this  civilization  to  which  mankind  had  attained,  cloth- 
ed the  gray-eyed  maid  with  powers  that  were  to  startle  poor 
Daniel  as  he  came  to  plead  before  her  august  tribunal. 
Prom  the  moment  that  he  bought  the  $60  flute  my  lady 
eyed  him  with  a  peculiar  set  of  her  head.  It  was  not  hostile. 
It  was  possessive.  Yes,  she  would  play — if  Daniel  wanted 
it.  The  queen  was  graciously  pleased.  She  played,  and 
Daniel  whistled. 

One  day  he  passed  the  corridor  of  the  Sherman  House, 
then  the  largest  hotel  in  the  West.  A  great  crowd  stood 
in  a  circle.  In  the  center  was  the  puss  of  the  office.  A  little 
mouse  had  fallen  in  her  clutches.  She  lay  on  her  side,  and 
dosed  in  a  clever,  false  fashion.  The  mouse  rose,  peered  at 
his  horrible  captor,  and  sprang  away.  The  hind  claw  moved 
an  inch,  the  great  forepaw  gave  him  a  blow  that  stunned  him, 
raid  the  cat,  rising,  bristled  with  furious  feelings.  Then  she 
calmed  herself,  purred,  petted  the  mouse,  and  again  turned 
her  attention  completely  away  from  her  victim.  He  did  not 
move,  and  the  disappointed  cat  gently  urged  him.  He  gave 
another  spring,  and  the  tiger  leaped  out  of  the  captor  at 
every  hair.  The  crowd  yelled  with  laughter.  The  cat 
again  dozed. 

"  Oh !  she's  asleep  !  "  said  one. 

"  Yes,  it's  a  good  time  for  his  nobs  to  run  away,"  sug- 
gested another. 

Daniel  went  home.  He  opened  the  piano.  He  found  the 
aria  in  the  book.  Mary  came  in.  He  was  glad. 


IN  THE  TOILS  OF  LOVE.  53 

"  I  do  not  feel  like  playing  to-day,"  she  said. 

Daniel's  heart  throbbed  in  apprehension.  His  pride  came 
up  strong  and  mighty.  He  went  to  the  engine  house.  He 
ran  a  block  or  two  on  the  way.  But  when  he  stopped,  the 
captor  had  him  safe. 

"  I  am  a  miserable  mouse,"  he  said. 

That  is  love.  It  differs  as  an  emotion  from  an  inexperi- 
enced young  man's  idea  of  it.  It  is  nature,  despotic  nature, 
lashing  him  to  the  destinies  of  life. 

This  was  what  had  been  happening  to  Daniel  all  through 
the  fall  and  winter  of  1868.  His  experience  at  the  corner  of 
Washington  and  Canal  streets  had  come  upon  him  just  as  he 
was  entering  the  cat-and-mouse  stage  of  love  for  Mary  Hole- 
broke.  She  had  him.  She  knew  she  had  him.  She  had 
begun  to  take  an  interest  in  the  struggles  which  he  would 
make  to  get  away  from  her. 

For  the  first  thing  a  young  man  does  when  he  is  in  love  is 
to  try  to  get  out  of  it. 

The  illness  of  Daniel  had  come  and  had  greatly  diminished 
Mary's  interest  in  him.  She  had  her  music  and  her  school, 
and  the  two  engaged  her  whole  attention.  Experiments 
with  her  heart  were  wholly  intellectual.  Her  heart  did  not 
yet  exist.  She  was  living  with  a  heart  which  she  had  bor- 
rowed from  books.  Perhaps  that,  also,  was  the  way  Daniel 
had  stumbled  into  love  with  her.  Had  he  known  that  love  was 
a  strong  coil  of  inert  force  that  would  suddenly  leap  with 
power  within  him  he  would  not  have  touched  its  spring  so 
jauntily.  He  wotild  not  have  gone  to  the  engine  house  and 
bragged  that  he  "  had  Harm.  Holebroke's  sister  dead  to 
rights." 

And  when  Daniel  had  regained  his  hold  on  life,  and  turned 
to  the  gray-eyed  maid  at  the  window,  and  forgotten  that  they 
were  not  yet  pledged  lovers — then  she  had  been  as  unpleas- 
antly recalled  to  the  book  flirtation  that  she  had  carried  on 
with  Daniel.  She  had  at  times  been  very  sweet  with  him, 


54  DANIEL  TRENT  WORTHY. 

merely  to  draw  him  out.  The  eagerness  with  which  he  met 
her  gracious  moods  angered  her.  Mr.  Errington,  with  his 
invitation  to  the  opera,  had  come  on  the  scene.  The  girl's 
ambition  had  been  whetted.  The  sight  of  Daniel's  weak 
face,  breathing  its  devotion,  frightened  her.  She  had  run 
away. 

Now,  Daniel  was  well,  and  at  work.  Harmon  and  many 
other  printers  had  organized  the  Chicago  Printers'  Co-opera- 
tive Association,  with  1,000  shares  at  $25  a  share.  No  one 
could  own  over  a  limited  amount  of  the  stock.  In  this  way 
$11,000  in  money  had  been  raised  by  subscription  and  a 
mortgage  of  $2,500  given.  The  company  secured  the  print- 
ing of  the  city  directory.  Daniel  began  as  a  canvasser  of 
names.  He  ended  as  a  proof-reader  and  indexer.  He  was 
now  in  receipt  of  a  good  salary,  and  he  had  better  hours.  He 
was  at  less  disadvantage  as  to  Mary. 

As  that  young  lady  grew  capricious,  Mrs.  Holebroke 
became  more  kind.  She  liked  Daniel,  and  Harmon  Hole- 
broke,  who  had  never  loved,  marveled  that  Daniel  did  not 
regain  his  handsome  form  and  color.  So  marveling  he  would 
try  to  engage  Daniel's  interest  in  the  great  co-operative 
scheme  which  was  to  revolutionize  the  labor  system. 

There  was  to  be  another  concert.  The  young  lady  next 
door  and  Mary  were  to  play  the  overture  to  "  Tannhauser  " 
as  a  duefc  on  the  piano.  Morning,  noon  and  night,  the  piano 
would  go.  The  girl  loved  to  practice  while  Daniel  was  at 
table,  and  eat  after  he  had  gone.  This  punishment  would 
teach  him  a  thing  or  two. 

The  young  man  would  go  away  in  wrath.  He  was  a  fool. 
He  would  show  that  snip  of  a  girl  that  he  had  something  in 
him.  He  stayed  down  town  to  his  supper. 

At  breakfast  sat  Miss  Mary,  bright  and  smiling: 

"  Oh  !  Daniel,  we  missed  you  so  last  evening." 


IN  THE  TOILS  OF  LOVE.  55 

"Yes,  Daniel,"  Mrs.  Holebroke  would  say. 

"  We  are  very  busy  with  the  directory,"  he  would  remark, 
gloomily. 

Then  he  would  hurry  through  his  meal  and  spurn 
that  gray-eyed  siren.  But  he  would  not  stay  away  at  supper- 
time.  Neither  would  she.  Her  eyes  would  wreath  with 
smiles,  and  his  heart,  giving  one  or  two  great  struggles, 
would  escape  the  chains  he  had  put  on  it  and  leap  toward 
her  eyes. 

She  would  wait  on  Daniel  in  a  thousand  little  ways — so  he 
thought.  The  supper  was  good.  It  was  nectar  and  ambrosia, 
poured  by  the  fairest  of  the  dwellers  on  Olympus. 

Then  as  the  happiness  neared  its  fatal  maximum,  the 
maid  : 

"  Oh  !  Daniel,  aren't  you  coming  to  our  concert !  The  tick- 
ets are  only  50  cents." 

"  Certainly." 

"  Oh !  we  girls  are  just  selling  oceans  of  tickets.  Mr. 
Errington  took  fifty  of  me  again." 

The  little  mouse  had  regained  its  feet.  Tt  had  dragged 
itself  to  the  utmost  reach  of  the  velvet  paw.  It  was  time 
that  the  blow  came  and  came  swiftly. 

Daniel  looked  up  as  if  he  had  been  shot. 

"  I  will  take  fifty,"  he  said  dryly.  "  Do  you  want  the 
money  now  ?" 

"  Oh  no  !  Isn't  that  perfectly  lovely  ?  just  think,  mamma 
I  have  sold  113  tickets,  myself  alone." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  said  the  mother,  as  dryly  as  Daniel 
had  spoken. 

As  for  him,  he  could  eat  no  more.  His  cheeks  flamed 
inside  and  looked  white  without.  He  found  that  the  supper 
was  but  half  through,  and  that  the  only  thing  he  could  do 
would  be  to  sip  water.  Cold  water  he  could  retain  on  his 
palate.  It  felt  cooling.  He  would  like  to  plunge  into  the 
lake,  and  drown  his  doubts. 


56  DANIEL  TEEN T WORTHY. 

What  an  evil,  indigestible  lump  one  has  in  the  throat 
when  some  other  man  has  one's  best  girl ! 

At  the  earliest  opportunity  Daniel  rose.  Could  he  not  stay 
and  go  over  to  the  rehearsal  ?  Mr.  Errington  and  lots  of 
other  young  gentlemen  would  be  there.  A  girl  delights  in 
calling  an  undoubted  bachelor  a  young  gentleman. 

No,  Daniel  said;  the  directory  would  need  his  time. 

He  went  to  his  room  before  taking  the  street  car. 

"  Mary,"  said  Harmon,  "  I  think  you  are  too  selfish  to 
belong  to  our  family." 

"Why  ?"  asked  the  simple  maid  in  astonishment. 

"Does  it  strike  you  that  Daniel  ought  to  take  fifty  tickets 
to  your  concert  ?" 

"He  ought  to  if  he  wants  to — if  he's  silly  enough." 

"  Let  him  do  it,"  observed  Mrs.  Holebroke.  "  It's  too 
late  now." 

A  half-hour  later  Daniel  entered  the  music  store.  The 
proprietor  was  glad  to  see  him. 

"  We  have  the  scores  of  six  more  operas,"  the  worthy  lover 
of  art  said,  rubbing  his  hands  in  gleeful  expectation. 

But  Daniel  laid  the  flute  on  the  counter.  He  opened  the 
case  and  exposed  the  beautiful  instrument. 

"I  paid  you  $60  for  that,"  he  said,   "Have  you  another  ?'' 

"I  have  just  ordered  one." 

"  How  much  freight  was  there  on  this  one  ?" 

"  Very  little,  I  assure  you." 

"Then  I  can  make  it  an  object  for  you  if  you  buy  this 
back  again." 

The  proprietor's  face  clouded. 

"  You  had  better  keep  it,  Mr.  Trentworthy." 

"  I  have  no  use  for  it." 

"But  I  fear  I  cannot  buy  it  of  you." 

"Why,  are  you  ashamed  to  own  what  the  p'rofit  was  ?" 

"  Oh,  no  !  Yet  you  could  not  afford  to  part  with  it." 

"  Did  you  make  more  than  $35  on  it  ?" 


"Are  you  ashamed  to  own  what  the  profit  was?  "      Page  56 


TWO  LOVERS.  57 

"No." 

"  Will  you  give  me  $25  in  cash,  now  ?" 
"  Ye-yes." 

"  Let's  have  it/'  said  Daniel,  with  a  great  feeling  of  relief. 
"  I  need  the  twenty-five." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

TWO    LOVERS. 

RALPH  ERRINGTON'S  real  name  was  John  Flint.  The  name 
had  not  caught  his  fancy,  and  as  he  did  not  tolerate  things 
he  disliked  he  dropped  it. 

He  found  Chicago  a  field  for  a  smart  young  man  not 
over-scrupulous.  While  less  observant  newcomers  sought  a 
boarding  house  on  West  Washington  street  or  some  cross 
thoroughfare  thereabouts,  Errington  went  down  Halsted 
street.  He  started  a  beer  garden  near  Twelfth  and  Jefferson. 
He  easily  became  chairman  of  the  ward  delegation  of  his 
party.  He  obtained  a  place  on  the  Board  of  Education. 
When  a  site  for  a  schoolhouse  was  bought  he  managed  to 
get  enough  options  and  commissions  to  clear  several  thou- 
sand dollars  in  the  trade.  Men  who  courted  political  favor 
asked  him  to  spend  their  money.  He  spent  it  at  his  own 
place  and  made  a  fair  profit. 

Having  carefully  amassed  $100,000  in  two  years,  he  went 
on  the  Board  of  Trade  and  bought  100,000  bushels  of  wheat. 
The  next  day  he  sold  100,000  bushels.  He  made  a  quarter 
of  a  cent,  and  paid  an  eighth  to  the  broker — he  made  $250, 
and  paid  $125  to  a  broker  who  had  pulled  hard  to  get  him 
on  the  Board  of  Education. 

He  thereupon  announced  that  he  had  won  $75,000  on  the 
Big  Board,  and  gave  an  "  opening  "  at  his  saloon,  where  he 


58  DANIEL  TUENTWORT1IY. 

dispensed  $200  that  a  Congressional  candidate  had  asked  him 
to  "place." 

The  "opening"  was  because  he  had  sold  out.  That  is, 
he  had  transferred  the  saloon  business  to  a  clerk.  He  was 
ambitious,  and  was  going  to  become  respectable.  Easy  to 
do — in  Chicago. 

He  went  to  the  Alderman  and  told  that  worthy  he  wanted 
the  place.  The  Alderman  protested,  but  accepted  a  seat  in 
the  State  Legislature. 

The  papers  printed  the  names  of  the  ring  in  the  Council, 
and  put  Errington's  candidacy  on  the  reform  basis.  He  went 
in  as  a  patriot  who  was  "  to  stop  the  shameless  scandals  that 
had  given  our  city  the  name  of  a  modern  Babylon."  That  is 
what  the  editors  said — who  knew  nothing  about  it. 

But  that  was  not  what  Errington  went  in  for. 

He  had  learned  enough  about  civic  corruption  in  the  Board 
of  Education  to  warrant  him  in  the  belief  that  there  was  a 
plum  worth  picking  in  the  Council. 

In  the  Council  there  were  thirty-six  Aldermen.  Nineteen 
would  make  a  ring.  Errington  organized  this  inner  body 
during  the  first  fortnight  after  election. 

The  city  press  congratulated  the  electors  on  the  overthrow 
of  the  conspiracy  to  rob  the  city,  and  the  opening  of  the 
Pacific  Railway.  California  pears  were  already  on  sale. 

The  leading  corporations  were  promptly  touched  by 
Errington.  Was  there  anything  more  they  wanted  ?  If  so, 
how  much  was  it  worth  to  them  ?  One  little  favor  could  be 
had  for  $20,000. 

On  the  night  of  the  day  that  the  papers  printed  their  last 
"ringing  editorials"  on  the  overthrow  of  the  machine  in 
politics,  the  following  performance  was  undertaken  at  a 
committee-room  in  the  City  Hall: 

The  agent  of  the  corporation  stood  at  the  door  of  a  locked 
room,  outside.  An  old  woman  brought  a  basket  of  California 
pears  to  the  door.  The  agent  relieved  her  of  the  basket,  and 


TWO  LOVERS.  59 

knocked  on  the  door.  Errington,  a  large  handkerchief  in 
hand,  opened  the  door.  It  proved  to  admit  to  an  ante-room. 

"  Put  down  your  basket/'  said  Errington. 

"  Show  me  the  closet,"  said  the  agent.  "  You  said  there 
was  a  closet." 

Errington  led  the  agent  to  a  locked  closet.  He  opened  it, 
put  the  basket  inside,  locked  the  door,  and  said  : 

"Now  I  am  ready." 

"You  are  a  suspicious  fellow,"  said  Errington. 

"  Yes,  I've  been  here  before." 

Errington   bound  the  agent's  eyes  with  the  handkerchief. 

"  What's  that  ?"  asked  the  agent,  in  surprise. . 

"  Oh,  that's  a  little  cap  the  boys  want  you  to  put  on,  that's 
all." 

The  agent  was  absolutely  blindfold. 

"  I  don't  believe  I'm  safe  in  doing  this,"  said  the  agent. 
"  How  do  1  know  there  are  nineteen  of  the  boys  in  there  ? 
They  can  change  around  on  me." 

"  You'll  have  to  do  it,"  said  Errington. 

"  Well,"  said  the  agent,  determinedly.  "  You  tell  those  fel- 
lows to  stand  awful  quiet.  I  must  rely  on  my  ears  to  make 
out  that  there  are  nineteen  there.  I  want  every  mother's 
son  to  get  his  share." 

"  Come  on,"  said  Errington. 

"You  go  on,"  commanded  the  agent. 

Errington  went  to  the  door  with  the  agent.  The  agent 
felt  him  as  he  passed  in.  Then  the  agent  groped  his  way 
back  to  the  closet.  He  opened  the  closet  door  and  took  out 
the  basket.  Under  the  California  pears  were  twenty  packages 
of  paper.  Each  package  contained  a  thousand  dollars  in  $5 
notes. 

He  groped  for  the  door  in  the  inner  chamber.  He  rapped. 
Errington  opened  the  door. 

"Do  you  want  to  buy  some  California  pears  ?"  lie  said. 
•"  I  am  blind.  Please  do  not  cheat  me." 


60  DANIEL  TliENTWORTUY. 

"  Come  in,"  said  Errington.  "  How  much  are  they  worth  ?" 

"  Fifteen  cents  apiece.  They  are  the  first  ever  sent  across 
the  continent.  Please  buy  one." 

"  Here  are  your  15  cents." 

"Reach  down  and  take  your  pear,"  said  the  blind  man. 

"  Try  the  next  man  on  the  committee,"  said  the  friend  of 
the  blind  man. 

"  Fine  California  pears,  15  cents  a  piece.  Reach  down  for 
the  good  ones.  Where  are  the  15  cents  ?  Thank  you." 

Around  the  room  went  the  agent.  Each  man  took  out  a 
package  of  paper,  and  the  sharpest  also  took  one  of  the  big- 
gest pears.  Eighteen  pair  of  aldermanic  eyes  fastened  on 
each  purchaser  as  he  bought  and  took  his  pear. 

As  the  agent  completed  the  circuit  of  the  committee-room, 
Errington  opened  the  door  and  followed  the  fruit  vendor  out. 

"  Here,  let  me  go  down  in  that  basket,"  he  said. 

The  agent  pulled  the  cap  off  his  head.  "  That's  a  hot 
thing,"  he  muttered. 

"  You  need  not  have  looked  so  soon,"  said  Errington,  as  he 
put  the  twentieth  package  in  the  tail  pocket  of  his  long  coat. 

"  What  do  you  think  we  give  up  an  extra  thousand  for,  if 
it  isn't  to  see  you  take  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you  must  see  a  little.  Do  }^ou  know 
those  fellows  are  beefing  terribly  over  that  15  cents  ?  It's 
just  like  a  corporation  to  strike  them  for  the  price  of  those 
pears." 

"  Blast  their  thieving  stars  !  "  cried  the  agent,  "  I  was  a 
fool  or  I  would"  have  charged  them  a  dollar.  1  could  a-done 
it." 

The  old  woman  who  had  brought  the  basket  was  peeping 
through  the  keyhole,  and  saw  Errington  take  the  package. 
The  old  woman  was  the  president  of  the  corporation,  with  a 
shawl,  a  bonnet,  and  a  calico  skirt  on.  The  agent  and  the 
president  went  home  together. 

The  agent  had  attended  the   committee  meeting  on  the 


TWO  LOVERS.  61 

ordinance  to  give  a  corporation  something  for  nothing  for 
ninety-nine  years.  On  account  of  the  arguments  of  the 
agent  thus  made,  the  ordinance  passed  the  Council  that 
night,  19  to  17.  The  city  press  confined  its  congratulatory 
remarks  to  the  opening  of  the  Pacific  Railways,  and  the 
presence  in  the  Chicago  market  of  the  most  luscious  Bart- 
lett  pears  that  the  midland  palate  had  ever  tasted. 

Errington  took  the  $2,000  and  went  to  a  real  estate 
office. 

"  Fifty  feet  at  $200  a  foot  are  $10,000,"  said  the  agent. 
"  He  will  take  $2,000  down,  balance  one,  two  and  three 
years.  My  commission  ought  to  be  something  liberal." 

"  You'll  get  no  commission  at  all." 

«  That  is  hard  !  " 

"  Well,  that  is  what  you  will  get." 

The  real  estate  agent  had  had  a  hand  in  the  school 
deals.  • 

The  finest  homes  were  on  Wabash  avenue.  The  fathers 
strolled  down  its  shady  walks,  asthmatic  with  satisfaction  at 
the  way  things  were  going  in  Chicago.  The  town  was  boom- 
ing. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  they  cried,  as  they  espied  preparations 
for  a  building  close  to  the  street. 

An  accommodating  man  stood  there  to  explain.  Alder- 
man Errington  was  going  to  erect  the  finest  livery  stable  in 
America. 

Everything  in  Chicago  was  to  be  the  finest  in  America. 

Now  paterfamilias  is  as  glad  to  have  a  livery  stable  on  his 
street,  next  door,  as  political  bosses  are  to  get  into  jail.  A 
committee  of  property-owners  waited  on  Errington. 

"  How  much  do  you  want  ?  "  they  said.  He  showed  them 
his  prospect  of  profits.  Ten  thousand  dollars  extra  would 
let  him  out  whole. 

The  real  estate  transfers  next  day  showed  that  Ralph  Er- 


62  DANIEL 

rington  had  sold  to  paterfamilias  fifty  feet  on  Wabash  avenue 
for  $20,500. 

"  1  had  to  pay  the  agent  the  $500  as  commission,"  he  ex- 
plained to  paterfamilias. 

It  may  thus  be  seen  that  Chicago  was  a  fruitful  field  for 
Ralph  Errington.  He  could  afford  fifty  tickets  for  Mary 
Holebroke's  concert. 

He  piled  up  another  $100,000.  It  was  his  whim  to  buy 
buildings  on  leased  ground.  In  this  way  he  became  "a 
great  landlord" — great  in  proportion  to  his  means.  In  the 
region  of  the  South  Side  gas-house,  on  Wells  street,  and  on 
the  North  Side,  wherever  he  could  buy  a  cheap  frame  build- 
ing, he  set  up  as  landlord  over  a  miserable  tenantry.  But  it 
was  practical.  It  increased  his  political  influence.  He  meant 
to  go  to  Congress. 

Nibbling  at  the  bait  of  a  gray-eyed  maid,  who  was  not  yet 
out  of  High  School  on  the  West  Side,  who  lived  at  257 
Clinton  street,  a  little  south  of  Van  Buren — nibbling  at  her 
hook  was  this  formidable  fish.  And  she  was  as  likely  to  land 
him  as  he  was  to  bite.  He  already  took  his  little  punishments 
with  wry  faces.  He  flirted  tremendously  with  all  the  girls 
of  her  class.  Old  hawks  love  young  chickens.  He  was  not 
an  old  hawk  exactly,  yet  he  preferred  young  chickens.  For 
every  school  miss  whom  he  took  riding,  Mary  chastised  him. 
She  generally  used  Daniel  Trentworthy  for  her  scourge.  This 
man  Errington,  with  fiery,  large  mustache,  with  great,  sandy 
eyebrows,  with  pompadour  gray  hair  that  had  been  red,  with 
his  air  of  the  world,  which  comes  with  successful  politics, 
with  his  handsome  establishment  of  buckskin  horses  and 
light  harness,  could  be  twisted  around  the  figure  of  a  maid 
who  was  not  above  smiling  sweetly  at  the  handsome  conduc- 
tor on  the  West  Madison  street  car. 

Was  it  not  strange  ?  Yes,  love  is  always  strange.  That  is 
why  we  read  love  stories. 


TWO  LOVEHS.  63 

Why  did  Daniel  tolerate  the  presence  and  assumptions 
of  Errington  ?  For  answer,  why  did  the  peers  tolerate  the 
sainted  John  Brown,  who  served  Victoria  so  faithfully  yet  so 
offensively  to  my  Lord  Duke  and  my  Lord  Bishop  ?  Because 
it  was  the  Queen's  gracious  pleasure. 

It  was  the  gracious  pleasure  of  Daniel's  sovereign,  the 
gray-eyed  maid,  to  visit  her  favor  on  Alderman  Errington. 
Let  all  subjects  look  well  to  it  !  Manifestly  Daniel  must 
obey.  It  was  humiliating,  but  what  is  left  to  a  lover  when 
he  loves — when  he  cannot  eat  or  sleep  unless  his  lady  smile  ? 

The  city  directory  was  out,  and  Daniel  was  a  proof-reader 
on  a  morning  daily  paper.  This  was  the  hardship  of  the  en- 
gine-house over  again.  It  took  Daniel  off  the  scene  every 
evening.  How  many  times  had  the  lover  tried  to  nerve  him- 
self to  the  sublime  act  of  leaving  Mrs.  Holebroke's  altogether. 
One  day  he  had  risen  to  the  deed.  He  came  home  to  supper, 
for  he  worked  in  the  afternoon  three  days  in'  the  week.  He 
listened  for  the  piano,  thinking  the  maid  was  again  displeased 
with  him! 

"  Where  is  Mary  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  She  has  gone  to  Hyde  Park  to  stay  all  night,"  answered 
Mrs.  Holebroke. 

The  earth  was  out  from  under  him  once  more.  Perhaps  it 
was  well  for  him  that  he  was  to  know  what  absence  from 
Mary  meant.  He  left  the  house  without  once  looking  at  it. 
He  cast  no  loving  eye  at  the  house  near  by  where  she  had  re- 
hearsed. The  holy  spire  under  which  she  had  gained  so 
much  applause  spoke  not  of  heaven  and  hope.  In  the  morn- 
ing after  that  fearful  night  of  waiting  he  took  the  street  cars 
and  rode  to  Cottage  Grove,.then  again  the  dummy  southward 
to  Hyde  Park.  He  wondered  which  was  the  sacred  roof. 
He  returned  late  in  the  forenoon. 

"  I  was  worrying  over  you,  Daniel,"  Mrs.  Holebroke  said, 
for  she  was  a  good  soul — a  great,  brooding  soul,  with  wings 
to  cover  all  about  her. 


64  DANIEL  TRENTWOBTHY. 

"  Are  you  not  afraid  to  let  Mary  go  away  all  night  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  No  ;  Mary's  friend  Ida  has  moved  to  Hyde  Park.  I  sup- 
pose the  girls  will  often  be  together  this  summer. 

That  was  dreadful  news  to  go  to  bed  on.  The  bell  rang. 
A  man  brought  a  handsome  basket  of  flowers  with  a  note. 
The  poor  boy  sought  his  pillow  in  that  kind  house  and  felt 
that  God  might  forsake  him  after  all.  Yet  he  had  hope.  He 
prayed  for  help  to  bear  his  trouble,  and  prayed  for  Mary. 
"  Thou  knowest  she  is  too  good  and  pure  for  me,"  he  moaned 
humbly. 

But  he  also  thought  she  was  too  good  and  pure  for  Ralph 
Errington. 

At  3  o'clock  he  should  rise.  He  dreamed  he  sat  with  Mary 
at  "  Ixion."  The  bower  opened  to  the  sweetest  strains,  and, 
as  the  fairyland  came  full  in  view,  he  felt  Mary's  arms  about 
his  neck,  as  he  had  seen  her  clasp  Harmon,  and  heard  her 
tell  him,  Daniel — Daniel,  the  despised  and  rejected — that 
she  had  tried  him  and  found  him  true.  And  as  the  bower 
closed  and  the  gleaming  purple  and  silver  faded  away,  he 
woke.  The  dreamy  chords  of  the  Moonlight  sonata 
trembled  and  faded  away.  There  came  a  magic  knock  on  the 
door — a  maiden's  knock. 

"Daniel,  mamma  isn't  at  home.  She  said  be  sure  and 
wake  you  at  3  o'clock." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Daniel,  and  gave  thanks  also  to  God. 
How  could  he  leave  that  house  ? 


THE  MOUSE  KNOWS  UIS  DANGER.  65 

CHAPTER  IX. 

THE   MOUSE    KNOWS    HIS    DANGER. 

THE  days  of  whistling  at  the  piano  were  over.  The  oddity 
of  it  was  gone.  The  battle  was  beyond  it.  The  combat 
deepened.  How  Daniel  regretted  the  happy  moments — re- 
gretted that  he  could  not  live  once  more  those  long  hours 
when  the  sun  shone  down  into  cooling  air,  and  the  maiden's 
laugh  rippled  away  like  a  brook  down  by  a  camp.  The  girls 
in  Mary's  class  vowed  that  she  used  her  laugh  shamefully  to 
attract  men's  admiration. 

Could  Daniel  play  the  flute  like  the  young  man  in  Theo- 
dore Thomas'  orchestra,  which  was  just  then  a  new  thing 
and  had  performed  before  a  hundred  people  at  Farwell  Hall — 
could  Daniel  play  the  flute  like  that  young  man,  how  easily 
could  he  command  her  time  !  How  rapt  had  been  her  en- 
thusiasm over  that  young  flute-player  ! 

And  then  Daniel,  dressing,  grew  sore  over  the  subject  of 
the  young  man  with  the  flute,  and  over  the  flute  particularly. 
What  stoic  would  not  get  uneasy  in  remembrance  of  an 
episode  so  clearly  inglorious  ?  Thereupon  Daniel  marched 
angrily  down-stairs  and  out  to  the  street-car. 

The  maiden  had  determined  to  be  absent  when  Daniel 
came  down.  Yet,  hearing  the  front  door  close,  she  was  not 
contented. 

"Daniel,"  she  called,  "would  you  please  buy  me  a  skein 
of  red  chenille.  Here  is  a  quarter,  and  the  sample." 

He  took  the  piece  of  fractional  currency  moodily.  How 
he  disliked  to  let  her  pay  for  it !  It  seemed  wrong  to  him. 
He  said  little.  Yet,  when  he  was  on  the  car,  he  could  not 
banish  the  great  joy  that  had  come  upon  him.  She  surely 
loved  him !  He  took  the  money,  wrapped  it  in  paper  and 
put  it  away  among  his  most  valued  possessions, 

5 


66  DANIEL  TEENTWORTHY. 

At  the  supper  table  his  queen  was  again  most  gracious. 
She  hung  on  Daniel's  every  observation.  Her  musical  laugh 
thrilled  him,  and  he  ate  as  if  he  had  never  tasted  food  before. 

"  Have  another  piece  of  the  pie,  Daniel,"  said  Mrs.  Hole- 
broke,  "  it's  so  seldom  you  eat  since  you  were  hurt." 

And  yet  she  did  not  know  he  was  twice  hurt. 

"  I  made  that  pie,"  said  Mary.     "  I'm  glad  you  like   it." 

Marvelous  being  !  His  queen  in  the  pantry  !  They  rose 
from  the  table.  The  girl  stood  in  the  doorway,  obstructing 
Daniel's  path  out  of  the  dining-room.  The  boy  did  not  know 
enough  to  put  his  arm  around  her.  She  was  too  good  to  be 
touched,  e'en  by  a  devotee. 

But  he  walked  on  the  air  as  he  left  the  house.  He  was 
wild  with  happiness. 

"  Daniel  is  too  mortally  solemn  for  any  single  thing  ;  oh, 
he  would  kill  me ! "  grumbled  the  girl. 

It  is  probable  that  she  was  displeased  with  Errington  that 
night,  and  had  tried  to  like  his  rival,  who  was  more  nearly 
her  own  age.  It  is  difficult  to  foretell  the  verdict  of  a  jury  ; 
but  it  is  still  more  difficult  to  read  the  opening  heart  of  a 
young  girl. 

Daniel  awoke  at  2  o'clock  the  next  afternoon.  He  lay 
there  until  3,  hoping  that  Mary  might  wake  him.  The  knock 
was  her  mother's. 

One,  two,  three. 

"Yes,"  said  Daniel.     "She's  out,"   he  thought,  rueful^. 

But  when  he  passed  the  parlor  lie  found  Mary  sitting  pen- 
sively at  the  piano.  She  was  looking  at  a  new  piece  of  music. 
On  the  cover  were  the  compliments  of  Ralph  Errington. 
Daniel's  sorrow  was  on  him  once  more. 

"  Mary,"  he  asked,  "  will  you  go  with  me  to  hear  Is  ilsson  ?  " 
He  had  no  thought  of  a  refusal,  yet  he  was  no  less  unhappy. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  dubiously. 

The  lover  was  all  excitement. 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter,  Mary  ?  " 


THE  MOUSE  KNOT'S  UIS  DANGER.  67 

"  You  know  mamma  lets  me  out  only  one  night  a  week, 
and  I'm  going  with  Mr.  Errington  to-night. 

She  was  all  suavity  and  explanation.  Clearly  it  was  not 
her  fault.  That  was  the  idea  she  wished  to  convey. 

Here,  at  last,  was  the  issue.  Daniel  had  already  lost  his 
idol.  He  had  forgotten  the  basket  of  flowers  and  the  note. 

"  Would  you  go  if  your  mother  were  to  consent  ? "  he 
gasped. 

"  Of  course,  I  want  to  hear  Nilsson  all  I  can." 

"  Very  well ;  I'll  ask  her  if  you  can  go  Friday  night." 

"  Friday  night  ?  Let  me  see.  Yes,  I  guess  I  could  go 
Friday  night — if  mamma  said  so." 

Oh,  that  was  bitter  to  a  young  man's  pride.  Already  he 
was  forced  to  court  her  through  her  mother.  Already  he 
would  be  reckoned  among  those  household  influences  that  a 
young  girl  of  spirit  detests  so  openly. 

So  she  would  be  at  the  Nilsson  concert  to-night.  He  went 
to  the  office  and  arranged  for  a  substitute  at  his  desk.  This 
cost  him  $5.  As  he  sat  in  the  opera  house,  before  the  per- 
formance, a  lady  and  gentleman  entered  the  row  of  seats  be- 
fore him. 

It  was  Mary  and  Errington.  She  nodded  to  him,  and  so 
did  Errington. 

He  felt  awkward.  Yet  it  was  natural  he  should  be  there. 
All  the  city  was  there. 

He  sat  and  wondered  what  a  young  man  in  his  predicament 
ought  to  do.  Rival  lovers  often  assassinated  one  the  other. 
"  A  cowardly  trick  !  "  thought  Daniel,  who  loved  a  fair  fight. 
Then  came  the  old  feeling  of  nature,  that  he  ought  to  seize 
the  maid  and  carry  her  away  to  his  own  tribe.  Alas  !  he  had 
no  tribe  whither  to  carry  her.  He  had  no  means  to  support 
a  wife.  She  was  courted  by  a  man  reputed  to  be  fabulously 
wealthy. 

Christine  Nilsson  came  on  the  stage  and  sang  "Angels 
Ever  Bright  and  Fair."  It  was  a  voice  famous  all.  over 


68  DANIEL  TRENTWORTBY. 

Europe.  This  was  the  first  time  that  marvelous  pipe  had 
played  in  Chicago.  Daniel's  heart  throbbed.  Tears  came 
into  his  eyes.  By  what  transformation  did  that  seraphic 
voice  become  the  voice  of  his  Mary  ?  Why  should  despotic 
nature  clothe  that  gray-eyed  maid  with  the  charms  of  all  the 
nymphs  and  the  voice  of  Christine  Nilsson  ? 

"  I  was  a  stricken  deer,"  the  hoy  wept,  knowing  that  the 
harhed  arrow  of  love,  the  archer,  was  deep  infixed.  "  There 
was  I  found  by  one  who  had  himself  been  hurt  by  th'  archers." 
These  sweet  words  of  Cowper  were  ever  in  his  ear.  He 
was  particularly  cast  down  to-night.  He  loved  Nilsson  for 
that  she  unfolded  Mary  to  him.  He  craved  advice  from 
some  one.  He  sighed  for  his  dead  mother.  Yet  as  he 
thought  of  mother  even  that  loved  heart  dissolved  to  his 
view,  and  Mary,  sitting  like  Marguerite  at  the  window  of 
Faust's  vision,  gradually  took  the  mother's  place. 

"  I  am  lost ! "  he  cried,  as  the  audience  thundered  its 
pleasure.  "0  God,  hear  my  prayer  I"  and  his  soul  repeated 
the  blissful  tone  that  still  hung  upon  the  scene.  Yes,  music 
is  an  art  divine.  It  gives  the  lover  expression  in  his  agony, 
when  dumbness  might  consume  his  life.  The  young  man 
sat  in  stupor  the  rest  of  the  performance,  except  when 
Nilsson  sang.  As  the  audience  rose,  he  felt  a  tap  on  his 
shoulder. 

It  was  Errington. 

'•'  Come  home  with  us.  We  have  two  extra  seats.  Have 
you  any  one  with  you  ?  " 

Daniel  looked  at  Mary.  She  appeared  to  regard  the 
matter  as  settled.  He  ought  to  have  refused,  but  he  had 
been  too  much  surprised  to  devise  any  excuse. 

"  Come  on,  Mr.  Trentworthy,"  pleaded  Errington,  as  if 
he  cared  nothing  for  Mary,  or  to  be  in  her  company  alone. 

The  boy  was  no  match  for  the  man  of  the  world.  He 
meekly  followed.  He  entered  the  carriage.  He  was  crest- 
fallen. Errington  must  be  a  good  fellow,  after  all,  H.Q 


THE  MOUSE  KNOWS  HIS  DANGER.  69 

went  to  his  room  at  least  four  hours  earlier  than  was  his  bed- 
time, and  read  and  fretted  till  4  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

"  I  guess  I've  spiked  Mr.  Trentworthy's  guns,"  thought 
Mr.  Errington  as  he  drove  homeward  that  night.  "  Lord, 
how  that  concert  did  bore  me  !  " 

And  to  tell  the  truth,  these  honest  common  folk  have  a 
deal  of  common  sense.  It  is  a  wonder  it  doesn't  affect  popular 
opinion  to  a  greater  degree.  Four  dollars  for  two  songs  by 
Nilsson  are  enough  to  pay,  without  dragging  it  from  8  o'clock 
until  11:15, 

The  papers  contained  a  fine  notice  of  Ralph  Errington. 
"  It  will  be  remembered,"  they  said,  "  that  Mr.  Errington 
lately  made  a  good  purchase  in  Wabash  avenue  business 
property,  doubling  his  money  in  two  weeks.  During  the 
past  week  he  has  bought  a  magnificent  residence  on  the 
North  Side.  Mr.  Errington  is  already  one  of  the  largest 
landlords  in  the  city." 

Daniel  read  these  things  with  increasing  alarm.  He  felt  like 
an  old  man.  He  had  entered  the  twilight  of  his  love.  The 
black  night  was  coming  on.  Never  again  would  he  stand  by 
the  maid  and  carol  and  twitter,  and  never  more  would  she 
ripple  with  laughter.  It  was  a  duel.  She  fixed  her  gray 
eye  on  him  and  defended  herself  resolutely. 

"  Dan,"  said  the  foreman,  "  weren't  you  off  Tuesday  night  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  Well,  if  you  are  going  off  Friday  night  again,  why  don't 
you  throw  up  the  job  ?  " 

The  "  job  "  was  $30  a  week.  It  was  Daniel's  estate.  It 
was  his  feeble  weapon  with  which  to  fence  with  Errington's 
million-dollar  rapier.  It  was  the  narrowing  of  the  net  of 
destiny.  Now  he  knew  what  love  was.  To  escape  from  it 
he  would  have  surrendered  his  life,  and  self-destruction  was 
the  only  thought  that  gave  him  any  refuge. 

So,  with  his  $5  for  a  substitute,  his  $5  for  a  carriage,  his 
$2  for  a  bouquet  of  roses,  his  $8  for  two  se^ts  in  the  stalls, 


70  DANIEL  TEENTWOBTHY. 

and  his  $2  for  refreshments  at  Wright's  restaurant  after 
Nilsson  had  sung  "  With  Verdure  Clad,"  Daniel  had  his 
Friday  night  with  Mary.  She  talked  to  him  of  Mr.  Erring- 
ton's  beautiful  house,  which  she  had  been  to  see  that  after- 
noon, and  he  aroused  himself  to  an  appreciation  of  her  cruelty, 
and  sought  for  escape  from  her  toils. 

The  maiden  knew  what  he  was  thinking  about.  "  You 
are  a  solemn  old  fellow,"  she  said  in  a  provoked  tone. 

"  I  was  happy  till  I  met  you,  Mary,"  he  said  rashly. 

"  Why  don't  you  let  me  alone,  then  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  ;  indeed  I  do  not."  He  was  so  sad  he 
thought  his  heart  would  burst. 

"  You  are  one  of  the  smartest  young  men  in  Chicago. 
Everybody  says  so.  But  I  can  twist  you  round  just  as  I 
please.  Do  you  think  I  don't  see  that  ?  " 

The  cat  was  purring  with  fury.  The  mouse  must  lie  quiet 
or  die  then  and  there. 

Besides,  it  eased  his  torn  heart  to  hear  that  vain  girl  admit 
that  the  poor  proof-reader  was  a  talented  youth.  She  might 
yet  rebel  against  Errington's  illiteracy.  He  had  his  invita- 
tions written  at  the  hotels. 

And,  besides,  if  she  knew  Daniel  loved  her  and  was  her 
slave  she  acknowledged  her  ownership.  She  had  not  cast 
him  off. 

Alas  !  a  dog  has  claims  upon  his  master,  but  a  mouse  has 
no  claims  that  a  cat  must  acknowledge. 

"  Wasn't  Mr.  Errington  kind  to  be  so  courteoiis  last 
Tuesday  night  ?  1  always  told  you  he  was  a  perfect  gentle- 
man." 

"  Indeed,  he  was  kind,"  averred  the  wretched  slave.  The 
slave  must  be  prompt  with  his  recognition  of  this  fact.  He 
was  no  poltroon  when  he  was  unchained.  Errington  had 
been  kind,  for  a  fact. 

And  thus,  the  mouse  lying  very  still,  the  cat,  though 
seething  with  inertia  of  the  chase,  was  forced  to  lie  and  doze, 


THE  MOUSE  KNOWS  HIS  DANGER.  .    7J 

The  house  was  reached,  the  carriage  stopped,  and  Daniel 
handed  his  queen  to  the  sidewalk. 

"  Good  night ! "   she  said  briefly. 

"Good-night,  Mary/'  he  said.  He  thought  of  the  look  of 
pity  the  old  president  of  the  college  had  given  him,  when  the 
boy  did  not  feel  the  need  of  pity.  He  thought  of  Jesus  of  Naz- 
areth, on  Calvary,  "  Father,  forgive  them  ;  they  know  not 
what  they  do."  She,  too  (Mary),  knew  not.  No  one  could 
knowingly  be  so  cruel.  The  flames  and  the  sharp  wires  had 
seemed  less  abhorrent  than  that  wicked  carelessness  toward  a 
human  love — a  tribute  of  the  man,  body  and  soul,  honor  and 
manhood.  "  Oh,  God,"  he  moaned,  "  be  merciful  to  that  man 
led  on  to  evil  deeds  by  her  whom  he  must  obey."  He  was  a 
noble  young  man,  after  all,  for  he  tried  to  think  of  others. 
He  was  thankful  that  Mary  was  a  good  girl,  who  asked  no 
murder  at  his  hands. 

"How  well  she  might  play  Lady  Macbeth !  "  he  said. 

He  could  not  sit  alone  until  4  o'clock.  He  returned  to  the 
proof-room,  fearing  they  might  be  behind.  He  took  hold 
with  a  will. 

"  Did  you  have  a  nice  time  ?  "  asked  the  foreman,  glad  to 
see  Daniel  back. 

He  nodded. 

"I'll  bet  he  blew  in  twenty-five,"  said  the  copy-holder. 

"  I'll  go  you,"  said  a  proof-reader,  who  was  eating  his  mid- 
night lunch. 

"  How's  that,  Dan  ?  "  asked  the  foreman.  "  Come,  now, 
how  about  that  ?  I'll  bet  you  didn't  do  it  on  the  cheap-John 
plan." 

"  Well,  it  cost  me  about  twenty-two  dollars  in  all." 

"  We  knew  it.  The  Rank  was  up  here  to  borrow  five,  and 
he  saw  you  come  in  a  hack  with  an  awful  pretty  girl." 

"  Oh,  we're  onto  you,  Dan,  old  boy ! "  went  the  chorus  of 
lunch-eaters. 

"If  I'd  a-known  she  was   all-fired   pretty  J  wouldn't  a- 


72  DANIEL  TEENTWORTHT. 

kicked  at  your  going,"  said  the  foreman,  in  extreme  good 
nature.  "  Oh  !  you  rascal,  you've  got  the  inside  track  on  all 
the  boys  at  that  house." 

For  the  boys  knew  where  he  boarded. 

"I  guess  so,"  said  Daniel,  wearily,  settling  to  an  account 
of  the  English  Derby  the  previous  Wednesday,  and  praying 
that  God  might  help  him  out  of  his  troubles. 


CHAPTER  X. 
MERCY'S  BROTHER-IN-LAW. 

RALPH  ERRINGTON  was  a  man  "  in  thorough  harmony  with 
the  people."  He  was  a  "  popular  idol."  He  espied  the  fact 
that  the  people  of  Chicago  wanted  wooden  houses,  and  he 
said  at  once  that  the  voice  of  the  people  was  the  voice  of 
God.  Some  of  the  capitalists  were  putting  three-story  man- 
sard roofs  on  five-story  buildings,  making  eight  stories  in  all. 
This  would  make  a  fire  of  wood  far  above  the  topmost  stream 
of  water  that  could  be  thrown  upon  it.  A  strong  attempt 
was  made  to  stop  this  form  of  balloon  building,  but  Alderman 
Errington  was  eloquent  against  any  move  that  would  "  harm 
the  future  of  our  glorious  city." 

In  furtherance  of  his  views  that  the  people  should  have 
what  they  wanted,  Mr.  Errington  leased  a  number  of  blocks 
on  the  North  Side,  near  Lincoln  Park.  One  of  these,  be- 
tween Linden  and  Center  streets,  on  Larrabee,  was  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  long.  Two  others,  on  Wells  street,  at  North 
avenue,  were  an  eighth  of  a  mile  each  in  length.  On  the 
Larrabee  block  it  was  possible  to  squeeze  at  least  a  dozen 
extra  houses  on  the  lots. 

Other  men  "  on  the  make  "  around  town  began  the  imita- 
tion of  Errington's  balloon  operations.  A  barrack  an  eighth 


MERCY'S  BROTUER-IN-LAW.  73 

of  a  mile  long,  without  an  alley,  is  a  money-making  contriv- 
ance. Barracks  sprang  up  all  over  the  city.  A  forest  of 
pine  joists  shone  in  each  morning's  sun.  At  night  the  houses 
were  closed  in.  A  week  later  they  had  tenants. 

But  the  conservative  element  liked  it  not.  The  Council 
had  been  elected  on  a  pledge  for  a  fire  ordinance,  and  the 
project  of  city  law  was  before  the  Committee  on  Fire  and 
Water.  On  the  night  of  the  Council  meeting  at  which  it  was 
feared  the  fire  ordinance  would  go  through,  and  building 
with  brick  alone  would  be  permitted  within  the  city  limits,  a 
great  mob  set  out  from  Halsted  and  DeKoven  streets,  and 
bore  down  on  the  City  Hall.  Banners  and  drums  and  brass 
bands  and  bad  whiskey  filled  the  air.  The  mob  invaded  the 
Council  Chamber  and  Errington  stood  forward  as  their  cham- 
pion. 

It  was  on  this  occasion  that  the  Hon.  Barney  O'Hallaghan, 
of  DeKoven  street,  made  his  celebrated  speech  against  brick 
and  stone.  Pronounce  the  a  in  want  as  if  it  were  the  a  in 
bad  or  fat : 

"Oi,"  said  the  prosperous  colleague  of  Ralph  Errington, 
"  kin  build  av  bhrick,  or  Oi  kin  build  av  sthun  [pause]  av 
Oi  want  tew !  But  moi  khonchtit-cAetc-wants  they  says 
Wod  !  And  Wod  says  Oi." 

His  vote  would  go  for  wooden  buildings. 

An  Alderman,  who  already  understood  that  he  was  in  the 
seventeen  helpless  outsiders — who  knew  that  Errington  had 
already  formed  a  ring  of  nineteen — led  the  fight  on  the  "  fire- 
bugs," as  the  wooden  builders  were  called.  The  reform 
leader  denounced  Errington  as  a  man  who  was  growing  rich 
on  fire-bug  principles  ;  exhibited  plats,  showing  that  Erring- 
ton  owned  200  worthless  wooden  shanties,  on  which  he  col- 
lected their  value  in  rents  each  month,  and  backed  his  state- 
ments with  so  much  force  that  Errington  called  him  a  liar, 
and  was  hit  as  soon  as  he  had  said  it.  This  precipitated  a 
great  scene  of  disorder,  in  which  many  people  were  hurt, 


74  DANIEL  TRENT  WORTHY. 

The  police  cleared  the  chamber,  the  meeting  was  adjourned, 
and  Errington  was  taken  to  his  boarding-house  by  the  mob, 
a  hero,  but  badly  used  up. 

The  fire  ordinance,  however,  was  killed.  A  five-story 
building  had  burned  the  night  before  because  it  was  out  of 
the  reach  of  the  department.  In  restoring  it  the  owner  at 
once  added  two  stories,  all  wood.  The  glory  of  Chicago,  like 
the  beauty  of  Sara,  Abram's  wife,  spread  abroad  and  filled 
the  whole  earth. 

Mrs.  Ilolebroke  put  on  her  bonnet  and  went  to  Mr.  Er- 
rington's  boarding  place.  She  found,  him  ill-nursed,  and 
obtained  a  trained  attendant.  She  made  mutton  broth  and 
sent  it  by  Mary.  And  that  lady,  making  the  best  of  things, 
appeared  in  the  light  of  a  very  attentive  and  dutiful  friend 
of  the  unlucky  fire-bug  Alderman. 

"Where  have  you  been  ?  "  the  sad  Daniel  would  ask. 

"I  took  Mr.  Errington  some  spring  chicken  that  mamma 
broiled  for  him,"  she  would  say.  And  then  she  would  be  so 
kind  and  good  that  Daniel  would  forget  his  great  sorrow  and 
keep  no  chronicle  of  his  hours  that  night. 

Still,  he  could  not  forget  that  when  he  had  lain  sick  of  a 
fever  the  maid  had  never  set  his  food  before  him.  Never 
had  she  smoothed  his  pillow.  He  had  said  to  himself  that 
she  was  too  young  to  be  in  a  sick  man's  room.  Yes,  the  days 
when  the  October  haze  had  wafted  lazily,  and  the  girl  had 
leaned  toward  him  and  begged  him  to  shake  that  note  well 
in  "  Di  quella  pira" — such  days  would  never  come  again. 

Instead  of  those  hours,  there  now  marched  the  insupport- 
able nights  of  suspense.  Daniel  would  be  at  his  desk.  "  Corn 
closed  weak  at  38c  to  38ic  for  Xo.  1  free  on  track  ;  34c 
for  No.  2  do  ;  25c  for  rejected."  Thus  the  weary  figures 
would  repeat  themselves  in  his  proof-sheet,  and  in  his  journal 
of  sufferings  he  would  jot :  "  9.30  p.m.  How  shall  I  feel  at 
midnight  ?  Will  I  be  alive  next  Tuesday  night  at  this  hour  ?" 

It  eased  his  rack  of  pain  to  do  this  thing.     He  wanted 


MERCY'S  BROTHER-IN-LAW.  75 

Mary  Holebroke  so  intensely!  He  wanted  escape  from  Mary 
Holebroke  so  much  more.  But  neither  course  seemed  possi- 
ble. Nature  puts  a  pitiless  whip  upon  her  children. 

Mary  never  asked  him  to  go  on  Sundays  to  the  Foster  Mis- 
sion now.  She  bent  her  energies  on  Errington.  That 
friend  of  religion  would  contribute  famous  sums  but  he 
vowed  it  wouldn't  do  for  him  to  sit  up  to  any  such  game  on 
Jefferson  street. 

Lately  Daniel  had  become  interested  in  a  wee  child,  who 
would  soon  be  a  newsboy.  The  crowd  called  him  "  Big  Bill" 
because  he  was  the  smallest  of  the  year's  brood  of  waifs. 

"There  used  to  come  an  awful  pretty  girl  to  this  school," 
he  said  to  Daniel.  "I  guess  she  was  Mary's  sister.  1  wish 
she'd  come  again." 

Daniel  wished  he  were  Big  Bill.  He  envied  the  eyes  that 
could  see  beauty  in  any  one  else  than  Mary. 

"  Daniel,  come  with  me  to  Mr.  Errington's.  I  must  carry 
him  these  eggs  that  mamma's  hens  have  laid." 

And  Daniel  went.  He  was  very  proud  to  be  on  the  street 
with  her. 

Mercy  is  coming  home  next  week,"  said  Mary.  "I  had 
a  funny  letter  from  her  to-day." 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  know  her,"  said  Daniel. 

Kow  what  caused  Daniel  the  utmost  self-quostioning  was 
the  fact  that  Errington.  liked  him.  The  sick  man  appeared 
to  be  as  glad  to  see  the  young  man  as  he  was  to  see  the 
young  woman.  Why  did  Errington  continually  close  his 
eyes  to  the  fact  that  Daniel  loved  Mary  ?  But  close  them 
Erringtou  did. 

Daniel  loved  Mary.  Yet  he  hated  her.  He  knew  she 
made  him  unhappy.  But  his  heart  almost  went  out  to  this 
man  Errington,  who,  having  all  to  fear  from  him,  feared 
nothing.  He  was  a  brave  man,  Daniel  thought,  "and  if  I 
had  seen  Errington  at  the  concert  the  night  I  had  a  carriage, 
Would  I  have  invited  him  to  ride  with  us  ?  Ah,  no," 


76  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

And  with  that  the  boy  came  to  the  wise  conclusion  that  it 
was  idle  for  him  to  compete  with  Errington  in  the  way  of  ex- 
pense to  be  lavished  on  Mary. 

Daniel  was  in  the  twilight  of  a  grand  passion.  The  girl 
saw  it,  and,  perhaps,  was  kinder  than  she  would  have  been 
otherwise. 

"  Harmon  says  I  will  take  to  Mercy,"  he  said.  "  I  should 
like  to  read  her  letter." 

"  I  should  like  to  have  you,"  said  Mary.  But  she  hurried 
to  her  room  and  forgot  to  give  the  missive  to  him.  It  ran 
as  follows : 

"  JUNE  30,  1869.  MY  DEAR  Sis  : — The  news  you  send  in 
your  last  letter,  that  you  have  told  Mr.  Errington  that  you 
will  marry  him,  and  that  he  has  bought  you  a  lovely 
mansion  on  the  North  Side,  of  course,  caused  me  the 
greatest  excitement.  Harmon  has  written  me  that  he  and 
mother  have  not  encouraged  Mr.  Errington,  and,  sis,  in  the 
very  last  letter  before  this  your  whole  epistle  led  me  to  sus- 
pect that  you  thought  more  of  Daniel  than  you  did  of  the 
Alderman.  You  want  me  to  come  home  and  break  the  news 
to  Daniel.  You  are  afraid  he  will  do  something  foolish,  and 
so  forth. 

"Dear  me,  haven't  you  put  yourself  in  a  nice  boat !  And 
your  intended  is  sick  in  bed.  I  imagine  the  Florence  Night- 
ingale mission  doesn't  give  you  much  comfort.  Still,  when, 
one  nurses  one's  future  husband  it  must  be  different  from 
nursing  Daniel.  And  Daniel  goes  with  you  to  his  house. 
He  does  it,  you  say,  so  as  to  see  a  thing  or  two,  if  he  has 
any  eyes.  And  Harmon  and  mother  know  nothing  about  it 
all.  And  how  do  you  expect  poor  Daniel  to  know  it  ?  I 
declare  I  am  sorry  for  him.  I  am  coming  home,  and  I  will 
send  him  away.  They  say  it  is  not  safe  for  a  woman  to  pity 
a  man.  Yet  I  do  not  believe  I  am  likely  to  pick  up  your 
leavings.  Dear  me  !  Grandpa  used  to  call  you  a  little  hussy, 
long  years  q,go  ! 


MERCY'S  BROTHER-IN-LAW.  77 

"  I  hope  you'll  be  happy  as  a  great  lady.  You  always 
said  you  would  be  one.  I'll  be  home  next  week,  and  get 
Daniel  off  your  hands.  Be  good  to  him  till  then.  But  I 
never  heard  tell  of  such  doings  in  my  life. 

"  Your  loving  sister,  "  MERCY." 

And  Daniel  was  well  treated.  Through  unparalleled  dis- 
cipline— through  the  writing  of  a  thousand  entries  in  his 
diary  of  sorrows — he  had  learned  that  the  heart  lived  on. 
He  had  found  that  he  was  more  peaceful  when  he  did  not 
see  Mary  than  when  he  did.  When  the  wasp  stings  the 
flesh  nature  sets  up  a  quarantine  whereby  the  blood  is  re- 
fused entrance  to  the  infected  quarter.  So  with  the  hurt 
heart.  There  is  a  time  when  nature  begins  the  process  of 
atrophy  of  the  affections.  The  life  itself  is  of  more  iniport- 
a,nce  than  the  mating. 

Daniel  was  in  this  black  night  of  diary-keeping  and  ap- 
proaching atrophy  when  Mercy  arrived.  She  was  a  stately 
girl  of  twenty  years.  No  man  had  ever  arrested  her  atten- 
tion. She  was  beautiful,  and  knew  it,  but  was  not  proud  of 
the  fact,  except  that  it  should  keep  away  pretentious  ad- 
mirers. Her  hair  was  as  black  as  the  raven's  wing  and  swept 
almost  to  her  feet.  Her  forehead  was  white  and  noble.  Her 
eyes  were  deep  and  belied  her  wftole  nature.  They  looked 
rich  with  pity.  But  they  covered  a  haughty  soul.  The 
gray-eyed  girl  had  said  well  when  she  begged  Mercy  to  wait 
until  she  had  ensnared  Errington.  That  clever  lover  of  all 
good  things  came  to  257  South  Clinton  street  as  soon  as  he 
was  out  of  bed.  He  cast  one  look  at  Mercy  and  was  ready 
to  surrender. 

"  Whew !  "  he  said  to  himself.  "  I  didn't  know  women 
were  ever  so  handsome  as  that !  " 

"But  it  would  do  him  little  good.  Wome*n  true  to  the 
core  with  eyes  twenty  fathoms  deep  were  not  for  Ralph 
Errington.  He  accepted  two  or  three  of  her  lessons  in  man- 
ners, and  settled  back  to  his  old  love. 


73  bANlEL  TRENTWORTltT. 

"  Egad,"  he  declared,  "  it's  an  honor  to  be  her  brother-in- 
law  !  There'll  come  a  time  when  I'll  be  in  the  family. 
She'll  be  my  sister  Mercy." 

It  already  flattered  his  vanity  more  to  be  the  brother  of 
Mercy  than  it  did  to  be  Mary's  husband.  How  strangely 
that  fact  would  have  struck  poor  Daniel ! 

How  bitterly  that  would  have  rankled  in  the  gray-eyed 
woman's  heart. 

"  Merce  is  just  lovely — that's  all  there  is  to  that,"  she 
would  often  say  to  herself.  Perhaps  that  spurred  the  younger 
sister  to  her  triumphs  of  music  and  magnetism.  And  some- 
times the  most  beautiful  women  do  not  have  the  greatest 
number  of  admirers., 

Yet,  though  beauty  be  only  skin  deep,  it  often  outlasts 
enthusiasm  and  a  desire  to  evoke  applause.  "Magnetism" 
is  a  performance.  Beauty  is  a  fact. 

But  Daniel,  being  stone  blind,  could  not  see  Mercy's  peer- 
less beauty.  He  loved  Mercy,  because  she  was  Mary's  sister, 
and  he  was  not  terrified  in  her  presence,  as  the  coming  of 
Mary  terrified  him.  He  loved  all  things  that  appertained  to 
his  august  sovereign,  and  in  his  natural  freedom  and  lack  of 
constraint  with  Mercy — in  his  sweetness  of  disposition  that 
had  come  with  unrelieved  suffering — he  was  certainly  an  ob- 
ject that  attracted  Mercy  beyond  all  human  beings  whom  she 
had  seen. 

If  he  arose  and  felt  disinclined  to  go  to  the  city,  Mercy  was 
always  about  the  house.  "  Her  voice  was  ever  soft,  gentle 
and  low,  an  excellent  thing  in  woman."  She  had  no  whims, 
But  the  door-bell  rang  very  often.  Would  Miss  Holebroke 
go  riding  ?  Could  Miss  Holebroke  come  over  to  the  church 
and  take  the  Goddess  of  Liberty's  part.  Could  Miss  Holebroke 
attend  the  opening  at  Riverside  ? 

No  Miss  Holebrooke  was  just  home,  and  tired  with  over- 
study.  She  would  not  go  out  for  the  present. 

Daniel  would  sit  at  the  window  and  pity  the  young  men  who 


MERCIES  BROTHER-IN-LAW.  79 

were  flying  like  wickers  around  this  new  light.  He  would  smile 
sadly  at  Mercy,  and  her  eyes  would  seem  very  deep.  Yes, 
Mercy  was  a  delightful  friend.  Daniel  felt  easier,  because 
he  instinctively  knew  that  Mercy  knew  his  sufferings  and 
did  not  blame  him.  Mercy  did  pity  him.  He  seemed  so 
like  a  child.  He  was  so  different  from  all  other  young  men 
she  had  known.  But  she  had  never  before  seen  a  young 
man  in  love  with  any  one  save  herself. 

So  she  found  an  innocent  pleasure  in  going  to  the  parks 
with  Daniel,  for  he  had  three  or  four  afternoons  each  week. 
He  had  once  been  a  confirmed  student.  Now,  he  could  not 
read ;  Mercy  gave  him  comfort.  He  loved  her  name.  He 
would  have  felt  relief  in  death,  of  course.  But  he  would 
have  gained  his  surcease  also  could  he  have  put  his  head 
upon  Mercy's  breast  and  told  her  of  his  troubles. 

Sometimes,  as  they  sat  on  the  bench  in  the  park,  Daniel 
would  find  those  great  eyes  full  upon  him,  looking  a  toleration 
that  it  seemed  to  him  only  his  mother  had  shown  to  her  little 
son. 

"  Ah  !  Mercy,"  he  said,  one  of  these  afternoons,  "  you  are 
as  cruel  as  Mary.  The  young  men  are  waiting  impatiently 
for  you  to  go  back  into  your  old  round  of  social  events.  I 
never  saw  a  girl  who  had  so  many  admirers." 

"  I  am  tired  out,"  she  said  ;  "I  am  like  you,  Daniel." 

"  No,  you  can  never  be  like  me,"  he  sighed.  "  No  one  can 
ever  be  as  unhappy  as  I  am." 

And  thus  in  his  unhappiness,  he  passed  a  very  happy 
afternoon,  albeit  no  less  than  five  of  Mercy's  admirers  drove 
or  walked  within  nodding  distance  of  the  pair. 

"They  are  not  afraid  of  her  now,"  the  boy  thought.  "I 
wonder  if  she  would  ever  scare  them  as  Mary  scares  me  ?  " 

At  night : 

"  Seems  to  me,"  said  the  gray-eyed  sovereign  pointedly, 
that  Daniel  and  Merce  spend  a  great  deal  of  time  in  the  park." 

"  Yes,  "  said  Daniel,  gloomily. 


SO  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

"  Yes,  "  said  Mercy,  and  her  great  eyes  blazed  with  a  light 
that  Daniel  had  never  seen  before,  and  that  quelled  his  gra- 
cious sovereign  instanter. 

"  Daniel,"  said  Harmon,  "  you  know  our  friend  Mrs.  Tren- 
ton, of  Fullerton  avenue  ?  You  have  been  there  lately  sev- 
eral times  with  Mercy." 

"  Yes,"  said  Daniel. 

"  Well,  she  wants  to  know  if  you  do  not  wish  to  conae  there 
to  board.  It  is  in  a  delightful  spot  near  the  grove  and  the 
park.  Mercy  is  always  there  as  much  as  she  is  here.  We  are  a 
little  crowded  here  now.  Next  winter  you  can  come  back 
here,  if  you  wish  to.' 

This  was  exactly  what  Daniel  had  been  vowing  he  would 
do.  Mrs.  Trenton  was  a  rapt  admirer  of  Mercy.  She  liked 
Daniel.  She  had  suggested  the  change  to  Daniel,  but  he 
had  told  her  he  did  not  know  how  to  leave  the  roof  that  had 
given  him  a  home.  A  word  to  Harmon  had  brought  this 
about. 

"  Mary,  you  haven't  been  over  to  see  Mrs.  Trenton  for  four 
months,"  said  Mercy. 

"  Is  it  as  long  as  that  ?  "  answered  Mary. 

"  I  shall  be  sorry  to  have  you  go,"  sai  J  the  mother. 

"  I  shall  be  sorry  to  go,"  said  Daniel.  And  now  that  he 
was  turned  out,  although  he  had  connived  with  it,  he  was 
truly  a  miserable  man.  He  looked  in  Mary's  eyes  for  pity, 
but  she  was  only  bent  on  making  herself  agreeable.  Her 
laugh  rippled  over  the  table,  and  Daniel  at  last  turned  to 
Mercy,  who  seemed  to  him  the  embodiment  of  all  goodness. 

The  mouse  lay  nearly  dead.  The  cat  was  assiduous  in  her 
attentions.  Life  must  be  restored  in  the  fainting  thing. 
The  paws  were  all  velvet  now.  The  touch  was  the  tenderest. 
The  life  gradually  returned.  There  would  still  be  another 
attempt  to  escape.  The  puss  purred  and  dozed. 

Daniel  sat  at  that  pleasant  board,  and  marveled  that  he 
had  not  been  more  thankful  for  the  blessed  privilege*  Yes, 


THE  MOUSE  ESCAPES.  81 

he  would  go  up  nearer  the  cemeteries.  Soon  he  would  rest. 
He  felt  that  his  forces  were  ebbing  away.  But  never  did  he 
rest.  Never  was  the  background  of  Mary's  necromancy 
absent  from  any  web  of  thought  he  wove. 

He  would  go.     But  his  heart  was  breaking. 

"  I'm  very  sorry  we  are  to  lose  you,"  said  Mary,  as  he  left 
the  house. 

He  was  angry  with  himself  that  this  speech  should  ease 
him  so.  His  intellect  was  clear.  It  was  his  heart  that  was 
the  stupid.  Shakespeare's  picture  of  the  bird  caught  in  the 
sticky  preparation  of  the  hunter  was  ever  in  his  mind  : 

O,  limed  soul,  that  struggling  to  be  free, 
Art  more  engaged  ! 

And  to  show  the  depths  of  her  sorrow,  and  the  keenness  of 
Daniel's  knowledge  of  Mary,  it  was  fated  that  Mary  should 
at  once  open  the  piano  and  strike  the  great  chords  of  Men- 
delssohn's "  Wedding  March." 

"Yes,  she's  sorry  !"  wept  Daniel,  as  he  heard  the  notes. 
He  looked  back  toward  the  house.  A  carriage  drove  up. 
The  march  ceased  instantly. 

A  house  with  a  belle  and  a  beauty  needs  no  porte  cochere. 


CHAPTER,  XL 

THE    MOUSE    ESCAPES. 

THE  house  at  639  Fullerton  avenue,  which  ran  at  the  top 
of  Daniel's  sheet  of  note-paper,  was  situated  near  what  was 
then  the  corner  of  the  Green  Bay  road.  Now  it  is  North 
Clark  street.  If  the  reader  will  take  the  sheet  and  clip  about 
twenty  degrees  from  the  upper  right  side  of  his  sheet,  letting 
the  radius  begin  at  the  mouth  of  the  river,  he  will  have  the 
trend  of  the  northern  lake  shore.  All  of  the  north  and  south 
streets  of  the  North  Side  at  the  river  run  into  the  lake  within 
three  miles.  6 


82  DANIEL  TtlENTWORTHY. 

Between  Mrs.  Trenton's  house  and  the  Green  Bay  road 
were  three  vacant  lots,  or  seventy-five  feet  in  all.  A  picket 
fence,  the  pickets  three  inches  wide,  ran  from  the  house  to 
the  corner  and  then  southward  toward  the  next  cross-street, 
or  Belden  avenue.  The  region  was  finely  shaded  with  trees. 
It  was  a  delightful  summer  residence. 

Daniel  had  nerved  himself  for  his  supreme  renunciation. 
All  of  us  dislike  a  change  in  our  habits  of  life.  The  pros- 
pect always  displeases  us.  Often  the  realization  is  much 
more  satisfactory.  Daniel  had  left  a  region  of  the  city  that 
was  utterly  prosaic.  The  nearest  trees  were  at  Twelfth 
street.  It  seemed  that  Chicagoans  were  merely  staying  in 
that  quarter  until  they  had  earned  enough  to  live  elsewhere. 
The  sun  would  beat  down  on  a  dirt  pavement,  and  the  rosin 
would  exude  from  the  sidewalk,  and  the  dust  would  gather 
on  the  dun-colored  sides  of  the  houses  until  the  very  ideal  of 
human  discomfort  had  been  reached.  The  fish  man  would 
tear  the  word  "Fresh  "  out  of  his  mouth  as  though  it  were 
calico  a  yard  wide.  The  straw  man  would  say  "  Boots  !  "  in 
an  insidious  thunder,  and  the  general  gender  of  purveyors, 
organ-grinders  and  scissor-sharpeners  would  keep  up  a  heat- 
lightning  of  entertainment  while  Daniel  slept  away  the  hot 
forenoons.  This  had  been  his  heaven. 

He  was  now  suddenly  translated  to  a  couch  that  over- 
looked a  bower  of  creepers,  where  real  birds  built  their  nests, 
where  the  street-peddler  rarely  came,  and  where  the  grass 
was  accorded  rights  of  its  own.  The  new  boarder  rose  and 
ate  a  lunch  of  Vienna  bread  and  strawberries  and  cream. 
Mrs.  Trenton  was  a  lady  who  believed  that  wives  owed  a 
duty  to  society  to  care  for  homeless  young  men.  That  is  an 
idea  worthy  of  consideration. 

What  Daniel  had  dreaded  proved  to  be  all  pleasure.  Na- 
ture exposed  her  charms  to  his  famished  eyes,  and  he  felt  once 
more  a  desire  to  live.  Mercy  came  over,  and  the  young  man 
and  the  young  woman  passed  a  delightful  afternoon.  His  feel- 


THE  MOUSE  ESCAPES.  83 

ings  had  been  too  tense.  A  few  strings  had  snapped,  and 
the  strain  was  relieved.  Three  young  men  called  to  take 
Mercy  home.  She  left  Daniel  and  went  with  the  third  one. 

"  There  goes  the  handsomest  and  the  best  girl  in  the  whole 
world,"  said  Mrs.  Trenton. 

Mercy  was  the  best  girl  he  had  ever  known,  Daniel  thought. 
But,  as  for  the  handsomest,  she  had  no  gray  eyes,  nor  laugh, 
nor  cruelty,  nor  "  ways " — and  thus  the  poor  lover  found 
himself  wandering  off  into  the  realm  of  Mary's  faults.  We 
often  love  people  for  their  shortcomings.  Novels  have  been 
written  about  characters  who  were  worshipped  for  their 
crimes. 

The  change  was,  to  Daniel,  a  reinvigoration.  He  went  to 
bed  the  second  morning  with  a  consciousness  that  he  could 
live  without  Mary.  It  plagued  him,  for  he  had  said  in  his 
heart  that  his  was  no  base  love.  He  had  sworn  eternal  affec- 
tion for  Mary.  He  had  determined  to  win  her  by  patience 
and  long-suffering.  This  life  without  Mary  was  a  phenom- 
enon with  which  he  had  not  expected  to  deal.  Yes,  he  could 
forget  her.  He  would  forget  her.  She  did  not  love  him, 
and  he  did  not  want  her  to  marry  him — now.  He  shuddered 
when  he  thought  that  he  would  have  seized  her  and  run 
away,  once  upon  a  time.  Yes,  a  woman  should  love  her  hus- 
band. Thus,  in  the  least  misery  which  he  had  seen  for  many 
months,  he  dozed  away  in  his  new  home.  The  nighthawks 
coursed  the  dawning  sky  ;  they  scoured  downward  a  thousand 
feet  and  turned  upward  with  an  unearthly  sound  ;  the  robins 
called  loud  and  clear  ;  the  maple  leaves  fanned  the  dust  and 
drank  the  dew.  Daniel  slept.  The  march  of  day  brought 
nothing  uncomfortable.  The  trees  gave  back  their  dew,  the 
noon  went  by  on  high,  and  Daniel  dreamed.  He  was  with 
Mary.  "I  have  come,"  she  said.  "I  have  fought  against 
you.  I  had  not  thought  my  master  lived.  Thou  art  my  lord. 
Whither  thou  goest,  there  will  I  go  also."  He  turned  ;  his 
face  beamed  with  a  peace  that  it  never  knew  waking.  Some- 


84  DANIEL  TEENTWOETITY. 

thing  was  bringing  him  back  to  sentient  life.  He  woke  with 
a  start. 

"It  was  all  a  lie  !  "  and  his  face  was  that  dark  one  might 
have  taken  him  for  a  pirate.  Oh  !  that  assassin  dream  ! 

And  yet  his  spirit  told  him  there  was  something  real  to 
this  thing.  He  was  sure  he  had  heard  music — had  not 
dreamed  it.  Paganini  was  sure  he  had  heard  Zamiel  play 
The  Devil's  Dream. 

Yes,  yes  ;  his  face  lit  up  with  joy.  Oh  !  thank  God  ! 
The  notes  of  the  Moonlight  sonata  stole  out  among  the  maple 
leaves.  The  long,  luxuriant,  entreating  chords  came  up- 
ward and  salved  his  hurt  heart  once  more.  She  had  come. 
She  could  not  live  without  him.  He  was  her  master.  Be- 
cause that  he  loved  her  so. 

He  went  down-stairs.     Mrs.  Trenton  was  all  smiles. 

"Mary  is  here,"  she  remarked.     How  wise  women  are! 

"  Is  she  ?  "  said  Daniel.  And  in  his  heart  he  kept  thank- 
ing God. 

It  would  be  churlish  to  make  her  come  to  him.  Had  she 
not  already  come  three  miles  and  a  half  ?  And  she  had  not 
been  here  before  this  summer !  He  entered  the  parlor.  She 
sat  at  the  piano. 

"  Oh  !  Daniel,"  she  cried  merrily,  like  a  child,  "  you're 
still  alive  !  We're  so  lonesome  without  you.  We're  so  sorry 
you've  gone  away.  I  told  Mrs.  Trenton  I  had  come  to  take 
you  back." 

It  was  like  Indian  summer,  with  the  girl  begging  him  to 
whistle  "  Vuelta  Zingara  "  just  once  more.  He  chatted  with 
her  in  an  ecstasy  of  ease.  His  conversations  with  Mercy  had 
improved  him — so  Mrs.  Trenton  said — a  capable  judge. 
They  went  over  to  the  park.  He  found  a  four-leaved  clover. 
They  sat  and  gazed  at  the  clouds. 

Magnificent  clouds  in  Chicago  ! 

It  was  the  only  happy  afternoon  the  young  man  had  ever 
kno^n.. 


.  THE  MOUSE  ESCAPES.  85 

"  You  are  such  a  queer  old  fellow,"  she  said.  But  the  cat 
was  not  now  bristling  with  electricity.  It  was  safe  for  the 
mouse  to  stir.  Daniel  was  flattered.  He  talked  and  she 
listened.  They  spoke  of  each  other's  peculiarities.  The 
clouds  arose,  white  as  alabaster.  One  canon  was  like  the 
Colorado's;  one  glacier  was  greater  than  Alaska's. 

"It's  going  to  rain,  I  am  afraid,"  she  prophesied. 

"  It  will  blow,  too,"  he  prophesied. 

So  they  ate  in  a  hurry,  for  it  was  time  to  go,  and  then  he 
took  her  home.  It  was  a  ride  of  two  miles  and  a  half  to  the 
Clark  street  bridge,  over  the  main  bayou.  They  sat  on  an 
open  street  car.  The  gray-eyed  maid  was  his.  The  clouds 
rose  on  all  sides.  Over  the  Clark  street  bridge  to  Randolph 
street  and  they  were  on  a  Clinton  street  car.  The  driver 
hurried  his  horses  as  if  the  trip  would  be  his  last.  The  gale 
was  coming  from  the  north.  They  reached  the  Randolph 
street  bridge.  The  gale  came  sweeping  down  the  North 
Branch.  It  caught  a  schooner  that  stood  in  the  river  and 
dashed  it  against  the  east  end  of  the  pivot-bridge.  The  car 
was  in  the  center  of  the  structure.  The  latch  broke,  and  the 
bridge  swung  lengthwise  of  the  stream.  It  was  a  perilous 
moment.  "  Turn  those  brakes  !  "  cried  Daniel,  and  the 
brakes  of  the  car  were  made  fast.  The  horses  reared.  Daniel 
was  at  their  heads.  "Sit  still,  Mary!"  he  said,  "I  know 
you  are  brave."  And  she  sat  still  and  spoke  not.  He  could 
not  see  her,  for  the  very  air  seemed  too  thick  for  sight.  The 
dust  rose  a  hundred  feet.  Would  the  bridge  blow  off  its 
pier  ?  A  moment  more  and  the  worst  was  over.  But  the 
car  was  at  the  center,  where  the  bridge-key  was  turned.  It 
was  not  safe  to  move  the  load  off  the  center.  The  passen- 
gers were  taken  down  the  stairway  in  the  bridge,  reached 
the  pier,  and  were  transferred  to  the  dock  in  a  schooner's 
yawl.  Daniel  took  that  gracious  sovereign  in  his  arms.  He 
brooded  and  purred  over  her,  and  many  a  poor  sewing  girl 
took  note  of  it. 


86  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

"  Mary,"  he  said,  "  I  knew  you  were  brave." 

"  Humph  !  "  she  replied,  "  there  were  plenty  of  other  women 
as  brave.  '* 

They  took  another  car  and  left  the  bridge-tenders  to  get 
the  bridge  shut  as  best  they  could — mainly  by  swearing. 

Now,  why  should  that  startling  episode  provoke  his  sov- 
ereign ?  Why  should  she,  as  the  car  turned  down  Clinton 
street,  suddenly  withdraw  her  smiles  ?  Why  should  she 
leave  him  at  the  door  to  pay  his  respects  to  Mrs.  Holebroke, 
and  permit  him  to  depart  without  thanking  him  for  his  kind- 
ness to  her  ? 

Ah !  the  Queen  accepts  no  kindnesses  from  her  subjects. 
She  merely  punishes  them  if  they  do  treasonable  things. 

Daniel  reached  his  office  wet  to  the  skin. 

"Hi !  Dan,  I  thought  you  knew  enough  to  come  in  when 
it  rained,"  remarked  the  foreman,  for  this  is  not  a  sympa- 
thetic world. 

Still  it  was  a  triumph.  It  was  the  only  battle  he  had  ever 
won.  She  might  well  be  angry  with  herself  for  showing  her 
love  for  him.  So  thought  Daniel.  He  blessed  the  day. 

Precisely  three  afternoons  thereafter  Daniel  awoke  once 
more  to  the  strains  of  Mary's  sonata.  It  was  monstrous 
strange  how  much  Mary  had  suddenly  come  to  think  of  Mrs. 
Trenton  and  her  lovely  home.  So  Mrs.  Trenton,  good 
woman,  made  bold  to  admit  to  Daniel,  for  it  pleased  him  to 
the  tips  of  his  ears.  He  had  fought  such  a  losing  battle  on 
the  West  Side  that  he  could  be  pardoned  for  his  gratulations, 
now  that  he  was  winning. 

A  Senator  once  visited  his  home  in  Ohio  when  it  was  re- 
ported that  a  disappointed  lieutenant  was  about  to  knock  the 
Senator  out.  The  Senator  spoke  so  smoothly  to  the  chef  of 
the  political  claque  that  all  was  well  within  three  days. 
A  horde  of  newspaper  correspondents  came  down  on  the  Sena- 
tor. He  blandly  told  them  that  the  fences  were  down  on 
his  farm,  and  that  he  had  left  Washington  rather  hurriedly 
in  order  to  put  them  up. 


THE  MOUSE  ESCAPES.  87 

Mary  was  over  ut  Lincoln  Park  nowadays  to  put  up  her 
fences.  This  was  Daniel's  profound  opinion.  He  said:  "I 
have  been  too  anxious  to  please  my  queen.  I  will  appear  re- 
bellious." 

He  entered  the  parlor  cold.  The  maid  did  not  appear  to 
notice  it.  She  took  up  the  guitar  and  begged  Daniel  to  teach 
her  to  play  "  that  exquisite  fandango."  lie  told  her  he  must  go 
immediately  to  work.  Her  brows  came  together  with  a  pro- 
voked look.  "  Now,  Daniel,  that  is  too  mean  for  any  single 
thing  ! " 

He  wished  he  had  let  the  work  go. 

u  When  will  you  be  over  ?  "  she  asked  poutingly. 

"  When  shall  I  come  ?  "  he  asked.  Plainly  the  campaign 
was  over. 

"Come  Monday,"  she  said;  "mother  will  want  to  see 
you." 

Mother — the  witch  !  It  was  Mary  who  wanted  to  see 
him  !  Well,  let  her  have  her  little  subterfuges.  Daniel  was 
thankful  to  go.  He  had  conquered.  What  odds  if  the  dis- 
appointed maiden  did  seem  to  play  Mrs.  Trenton's  grand 
piano  with  such  vim — a  stroke  like  that  of  Carreno,  the  Bra- 
zilian demoiselle  who  was  just  then  starring  through  the 
United  States. 

Monday — it  was  Saturday.  The  young  man  walked  in  the 
air  again.  Now  that  he  was  to  marry  Mary,  he  began  to 
wonder  how  he  should  support  her.  He  regretted  his  night 
work.  He  said  :  "I  will  abandon  it." 

On  Sunday  he  was  tempted  to  go  on  the  West  Side.  He 
only  went  as  far  as  the  Van  Buren  street  bridge,  and  looked 
across.  The  factories  were  in  the  way,  and  the  viaduct  be- 
yond was  high. 

"  Any  way,"  he  thought,  "  she  has  not  seen  me."  Some- 
how he  connected  Mercy  with  his  change  of  fortunes.  "  How 
hard  it  was  for  the  minx,"  he  smiled.  "How  faithful  such  a 
heart  will  be  when  it  does  surrender  !  " 


88  DANIEL  TEENTWORTHY. 

For  he  had  heard  the  foreman  say,  who  knew  nothing 
about  Mary,  that  a  gray-eyed  woman  would  lick  a  man's 
boots  if  once  she  loved  a  man.  Daniel  was  pleased  that  his 
mistress  had  wanted  to  be  sure  of  her  own  heart. 

"Was  ever  woman  in  such  humor  won  ?-"  asked  Daniel, 
thinking  of  Richard  III.  and  Mary.  Had  Daniel  thought  of 
George  Washington  or  Napoleon,  Mary  would  have  stood 
hand  in  hand  with  him. 

At  4  o'clock  Monday  morning  Daniel  was  unwilling  to 
sleep.  "  I  should  like  to  stay  awake,"  he  admitted.  "  But  I 
should  look  like  a  ghost.  So  he  slept. 

He  dreamed  that  he  entered  the  Sherman  House  corridor. 
A  great  number  of  men  roared  hilariously.  The  cat  had 
pounced  on  the  mouse,  and  was  striking  it  ten  blows  a 
second,  first  with  right  forepaw,  and  then  with  left.  He 
awoke  with  a  start. 

"  Pshaw  !  "  he  said.  And  yet  his  heart  beat  furiously,  and 
he  was  weak  with  apprehension.  So  much  depended  on  this 
afternoon  that  he  was  like  the  wedding  guest.  "I  am 
afeared,"  quoth  he  to  the  Ancient  Mariner.  Now  that  the 
time  had  come  the  young  man  was  unwilling  to  go.  How 
should  he  keep  his  fears  from  Mary  ?  Would  she  not  pers- 
ecute him,  then,  another  half  year  ? 

"  Fudge  !  "  he  said,  "  I've  got  her.  She's  fooled  me  too 
long  already.  He  reached  the  Clinton  street  abode  in  a  tre- 
mor of  mingled  apprehension  and  joy.  Here  was  the  house. 
How  good  it  looked  !  He  had  come  back  at  her  request.  He 
rang  the  bell. 

"  The  hussy  !  "  he  whispered.  "She  might  have  had  the 
door  open.  I've  seen  her  do  it  for  Errington."  He  smiled 
and  then  he  did  not  smile. 

Mrs.  Holebroke  opened  the  door. 

"Why,  Daniel  !  Come  in.  The  girl  isx  hanging  out  her 
clothes,  and  both  Mary  and  Mercy  are  out." 

That  was  unromantic,  was  it  not  ?  But  was  it  not  life — - 
real  life  ? 


THE  MOUSE  ESCAPES.  89 

And  stern  as  destiny  are  all  the  years. 

"  They  call  it  July,  August,  September,"  thought  the  for- 
lorn man.  "I  call  it  Disappointment,  Agony,  Death — that 
is  the  calendar  I  must  live." 

"Aren't  you  going  to  come  in?"  asked  the  mother,  for 
Daniel  \vas  petrified  with  horror.  He  had  thought  he  was 
risen  out  of  hell.  He  had  thought  it  was  the  third  day,  but 
it  seemed  it  was  only  the  descent.  Easy  is  the  descent. 

(i  Certainly.  I'll  wait  till  she  arrives,"  he  stammered, 
wondering  what  Mrs.  Holebroke  had  thought  of  him. 

"  Mary  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  I  hardly  think  she  will  be  back  soon.  She  has 
gone  out  for  the  afternoon." 

He  sat  down  in  torment.  The  mother  was  busy  with  a 
tailor's  goose,  ironing  out  some  cloth.  The  air  of  the  room 
was  pleasant.  Daniel  watched  her,  and  there  came  upon  him 
a  great  light. 

Her  features  beamed  with  goodness,  and  yet  with  common 
sense.  .As  Saul  of  Tarsus  went  up  toward  Damascus,  so  now 
journeyed  Daniel  toward  the  truth.  There  came  a  desire  to 
question  this  mother-heart. 

"  Mrs.  Holebroke,"  he  said,  his  heart  breaking  with  dis- 
appointment, "I  think  Mary  loves  me,  and  doesn't  know  it." 

"  I  hope  she  does,"  said  the  ironer. 

"  Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

The  ironer  ironed. 

"  Don't  you  believe  that  she  is  so  young  that  it  will  be  a 
year  or  so  before  she  will  show  any  degree  of  womanly  af- 
fection ?  " 

"  Mary  is  a  strange  girl,"  said  the  mother.  And  then  : 
"  But  Mary  means  all  right." 

The  light  fell  full  on  the  wretched  young  man  :  "  Saul, 
Saul,  why  persecutest  thou  me  ?  "  It  was  useless  to  hold 
back  the  main  idea.  He  leaned  both  elbows  on  her  ironing- 


90  DAXIEL  THE  XT  WORTHY. 

board  and  looked  into  her  face  with  the  gaze  of  a  strong  soul 
who  had  suddenly  seen  that  the  book  of  the  future  was  at 
last  open  to  him.  He  stopped  her  work. 

Mrs.  Holebroke  peered  into  his  face.  Many  a  face  must 
have  looked  that  way  as  it  lay  under  the  guillotine. 

"  You  are  a  good  woman.  You  believe  in  God — in  Christ 
— that  he  died  for  us.  Now  tell  me,  do  you  think  I  will  ever 
get  Mary  ?  " 

The  face  was  still  on  the  block.  She  turned  hastily  to  her 
heating  apparatus. 

"  Daniel,  you  don't  want  my  advice." 

"  I — want — the  truth."     The  voice  was  hoarse. 

She  could  not  gaze  upon  that  upturned  face,  for  she  felt 
instinctively  that  she  was  a  priest  of  Mexico.  She  must 
tear  out  his  heart.  It  was  worse  than  the  French  ax. 

"  Daniel,"  she  said  faintly,  "  it  is  my  honest  opinion  that 
Mary  does  not  care  for  you,  and  never  will  !  " 

"  You  know  that ! "     The  jury  was  merely  being  polled. 

"  I  know  it." 

It  was  and  is  the  jury's  true  and  only  verdict. 

The  queen  died  that  moment.  Or,  rather,  her  realm  dis- 
appeared. The  heart  over  which  she  had  reigned  was  broken 
far  the  nonce. 

He  could  not  rise  in  a  moment,  and  the  mother  tarried 
with  her  charcoal. 

Then  he  took  her  unwilling  hand.  "You  have  been  a 
mother  to  me,"  he  stammered.  "  And  you  have  done  me 
the  greatest  of  kindnesses." 

The  old  lady  sobbed.  "  Please  don't  think  hard  of  me, 
Daniel,"  she  begged.  "  I  wish  it  were  otherwise." 

The  young  man  closed  the  door  gently.  He  did  not  want 
to  hear  its  noise.  He  took  a  car.  He  did  not  want  to  walk 
over  the  river.  Once  across  the  bayou,  he  was  safe  forever. 
His  hurt  mended.  He  became  angry.  He  grew  furious. 
It  is  at  such  stages  that  men  behead  their  poor  queens. 


THE  MOUSSE  ESCAPES.  91 

Daniel's  diary  of  sorrows  had  been  made  out  of  the  white 
ends  of  proof-slips.  The  stack  was  inches  in  height.  He 
kept  no  record  that  night.  He  gathered  the  papers  together  ; 
he  put  the  25-cent  piece  and  the  red  chenille  with  them  ;  he 
added  the  leaden  curl-piece  that  he  had  found  ;  he  put  in 
the  receipt  for  the  fifty  tickets  ;  he  added  the  seat  coupons 
of  all  the  theatre  tickets  that  he  had  bought  for  her  delecta- 
tion. He  tied  up  this  accursed  packet  almost  gleefully.  He 
took  it  home. 

"  She  will  be  over  here  in  less  than  a  week,"  he  thought 
grimly,  as  he  lay  down.  He  could  not  pray.  He  could  only 
live.  That  was  all  will-power — to  do  that. 

To  his  extreme  surprise,  the  strains  of  the  mad  tarantelle 
and  the  "  Vuelta  Zingara  "  broke  forth  at  exactly  2  o'clock. 
He  had  asked  to  be  called  at  that  hour. 

He  rose  and  was  down-stairs  in  an  incredibly  short  time. 
He  ate  no  lunch.  He  entered  the  parlor.  The  maid  looked 
up  and  smiled,  and  then  she  did  not  smile.  But  she  seemed 
ready  for  the  onset. 

"  Mary,"  he  said,  "you  promised  to  go  riding  with  me. 
You  remember  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  I  can't  go  this  afternoon,  I  am  afraid." 

"  I  will  have  a  span  of  horses  here  in  ten  minutes,"  he 
said,  decisively.  "  I  shall  never  ask  another  favor  of  you." 

"Yes,  Mary,  it  is  a  lovely  afternoon,"  chimed  in  Mrs. 
Trenton. 

But  it  was  not  a  lovely  afternoon  for  Mary.  She  detested 
scenes.  She  wished  herself  at  home. 

Daniel  drove  up  in  a  handsome  black  spider,  with  milk- 
white  horses.  The  outfit  ought  to  have  been  noticeable.  Ic 
cost  him  two  days'  labor. 

The  packet  was  under  the  lap-cloth. 

The  gray-eyed  maid  came  forth.  The  lady  of  the  house 
stood  on  her  veranda  and  gave  approval  to  the  scene. 

"They  are  a  fine  pair,"  she  said  to  herself.  "I  envy 
you,"  she  said  to  Mary. 


92  DANIEL  TRENT  WORTHY. 

Daniel  heard  it  all,  as  though  it  were  in  the  dim  distance. 
His  mind  was  on  the  packet  down  at  his  feet.  He  desired 
only  to  tell  Mary  the  story  of  the  woe  she  had  given  him. 

"Mary  Holebrqke,"  he  began,  "you  possess  peculiar  pow- 
ers over  young  men  and  old  men  alike.  I  do  not  remember 
an  acquaintance  who,  criticising  you  in  the  beginning,  has 
not  ended  with  a  tribute  to  your  influence.  You  may  not  be 
aware  of  this  fact,  and  I  want  to  tell  you  just  what  you  have 
done  with  me  in  the  last  twelve  months." 

This  was  by  far  the  most  disagreeable  prologue  to  which 
the  girl  had  ever  listened.  She  looked  full  of  hatred.  Dan- 
iel had  never  seen  the  instincts  of  self-preservation  aroused 
in  her  before. 

"You  know  that  you  were  exceedingly  agreeable  in  your 
conduct  toward  me  as  early  as  a  year  ago  last  spring." 

"I  know  no  such  thing,"  the  gray-eyed  maid  replied.  "I 
was  lonesome.  Mercy  was  gone.  I  was  willing  to  talk  to 
anybody.  I  considered  you  a  friend  of  Harmon's." 

"You  remember  that  you  depended  on  my  going  with  you 
to  the  Foster  Mission.  Ah  !  Mary,  almost  every  spot  over 
there  is  filled  with  memories  of  you.  I  do  not  see  how  I 
can  ever  go  there  again." 

"  We  wanted  all  the  folks  we  could  get  at  the  mission.  It 
was  my  duty  to  get  you  interested.  You  have  often  told  me 
your  acquaintance  with  Big  Bill  alone  repaid  you." 

"  Yes,  Mary.  But  why  did  your  duty  to  take  me  to  the 
mission  assert  itself  so  capriciously  ?  When  you  were  kind 
to  me  it  was  your  duty.  But  when  you  gave  me  no  chance 
to  go  with  you,  was  that  also  the  voice  of  duty  ?  " 

"  You  knew  the  way,"  said  the  girl,  laconically. 

"  I  do  not  mean  to  upbraid  you,  for  it  must  be  that  you 
could  not  be  aware  of  the  influence  you  exercised  over  me — 
that  is,  the  glamour,  the  despotism.  I  have  lived  in  hell." 

The  word  startled  her. 

"  Please,  Mr.  Trentworthy,"  she  protested. 


THE  MOUSE  ESCAPES.  93 

"  Never  fear,  Mary.  I  am  in  my  right  mind,  and  am  not 
blaspheming.  The  Lord  has  allowed  me  to  live,  but  I  have 
lived  in  hell.  I  want  to  show  you,  to  your  own  eyes,  the 
proof  of  it.  I  want  you  should  see  that  you  ought  to  be  care- 
ful with  young  men.  You  are  not  to  blame,  Mary.  You  are 
not  to  blame." 

It  was  hard.  He  had  not  calculated  upon  this  utter  cal- 
lousness. The  poor  boy  did  not  know  she  could  not  under- 
stand him.  She  doubted  his  sanity.  That  any  man  of 
sense  should  pass  through  the  tortures  of  love  she  would  not 
believe.  She  saw  him  unfold  his  packet,  but  she  did  not 
want  to  see  it.  "  She  looked  across  at  the  lawn  that  bordered 
the  drive. 

"  Here,  Mary,"  he  said,  "  you  see  the  first  ticket  I  ever 
got  at  the  mission.  Here  is  the  Chinese  fan  you  threw  away 
one  Sunday  a  year  ago.  Here  are  the  quarter  and  the 
samples  you  gave  me  to  buy  chenille.  Here  -is  a  lead  for 
your  hair." 

She  seized  it  and  threw  it  away. 

"  I  should  think,"  she  said,  "  you  would  have  been  above 
such  a  thing." 

"No,"  he  said  wearily,  "  I  was  not."  He  had  expected 
more  tolerance  than  he  was  receiving. 

"  Trust  me,  Mary,"  he  said,  "  I  would  never  have  asked 
to  marry  you,  I  would  never  have  married  you,  until  I  saw 
you  loved  me.  I  was  patient.  That  was  my  only  crime." 

"  I  think  you  acted  very  foolishly." 

"  Well,  other  men  have  been  as  simple.  Perhaps  I  can 
be  of  service  to  them  in  showing  your  influence  to  you." 

"  No  one  else  would  be  so  like  a  calf." 

She  averted  her  face.  This  was  Daniel's  queen.  This 
was  the  lady  who  could  not  live  without  him. 

And  yet  he  pardoned  her.  He  had  made  her  ride  with 
him.  He  could  not  blame  her. 

"  Mary,"  he   said,  "  here   is  the   record  of  my   sufferings. 


94  DANIEL  TRENTWOETHT. 

Do  you  doubt  them  ?  Here  the  account  is  kept — hour  by 
hour.  From  half-past  nine  to  half-past  ten  there  have  always 
been  sixty  minutes  of  torment.  Then,  as  I  felt  you  were 
asleep,  I  knew  I  would  not  wake  you,  even  were  I  near 
you.  I  never  suffered  so  much  after  that  hour.  It  is  a  book 
of  misery." 

The  pile  lay  on  his  lap.  With  one  hand  he  held  the 
reins.  With  the  other  he  leafed  up  the  rough  pieces  of 
proof  paper. 

"You  were  not  very  neat,"  the  gray-eyed  rnaid  said,  as  the 
wind  carried  away  a  half-dozen  slips. 

"There,"  he  said,  "that  one  left  on  top  is  for  the  night 
you  said  you  were  coming  down  to  see  me.  It  reads  :  (  Peace. 
The  background  gone.'  The  'background'  was  my  feeling 
of  intense  longing  to  be  near  you,  to  try  and  say  or  do  some- 
thing that  would  make  you  smile  on  me.  Look  at  the  very 
next  evening.  You  brought  Errington  with  you  to  the 
office.  It  reads :  '  A  cruel  hour.  Can  I  live  until  1  A.  M.  ? 
1  A.  M. — I  am  alive.'  Now,  the  very  next  day,  you  were 
delightful.  You  criticised  Errington,  and  I,  for  fear  of  you, 
championed  him.  The  entry  is,  'Peace — no  background.'" 

Her  lip  curled.  There  was  an  element  of  her  mother's 
stern  common  sense  in  her. 

"  The  very  next  day,"  said  Daniel,  "  I  found  you  had  given 
away  the  handsome  book  I  had  bought  for  you.  '  9  p.  m. — 
My  soul  followeth  hard  after  thee.  Thy  right  arm  upholdeth 
me  ! '  That,  Mary,  was  my  cry  of  deepest  despair.  Wher- 
ever you  find  that  verse  in  these  entries,  then  I  was  indeed 
unhappy." 

She  did  not  hear  it.     She  was  tired  of  it. 

Inconceivable  !  that  the  life  of  one  should  be  of  so  little 
interest  to  another.  Inconceivable  !  that  the  creator  should 
forget  the  created.  But  it  was  too  far  from  Mary.  She 
was  not  responsible  for  it,  even  if  it  had  come  to  pass,  which 
she  must  ever  doubt 


THE  MOUSE  ESC  A  PES.  05 

He  threw  it  all  away.     Oh  !  if  it  did  not  keep  her  atten- 
tion no  one  else  would  stop  to  read  it. 
"  They  are  gone,  Mary,"  he  said. 
She  asrain   looked  at   the  horses.     She  was  relieved.     She 

o 

thought  far  better  of  Daniel,  now. 

"  I  shall  destroy  everything  I  have  that  reminds  me  of 
you,"  he  promised,  thinking  that  also  would  please  her. 

But  it  did  not. 

"I  have  always  liked  you,  Mr.  Trentworthy,"  she  said,  her 
composure  regained.  "I  desire  to  continue  to  do  so.  We 
have  always  been  good  friends,  have  we  not  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  your  friend,  Mary." 

"  Well  let  us  so  continue." 

"  I  do  not  want  to  see  you  for  at  least  a  year,  Mary — per- 
haps never  again." 

"Why,  that  is  the  unfairest  thing  I  ever  heard  of.  Just 
because  you  cannot  monopolize  my  thoughts,  then  I  must 
lose  a  friend  of  }-ears'  standing." 

Ten  minutes  before,  when  she  supposed  he  would  always 
keep  the  diary,  she  would  have  been  thankful  to  get  clear  of 
him  at  any  sacrifice. 

"You  have  not  so  many  lady  friends  in  Chicago  that  you 
can  afford  to  throw  them  off  in  that  manner." 

What  an  oddity  is  a  woman's  mind — to  .a  young  man  ! 
Daniel  was  puzzled.  He  was  riding  his  last  time  with  her. 
Like  a  thief  to  the  scaffold,  each  moment  was  precious.  He 
turned  his  horses  down  the  drive  once  more.  The  whirligig 
of  her  caprice  also  turned. 

"  Oh  !  let's  go  home !  "  she  commanded. 

It  restored  Daniel. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "you  are  right.  We  will  gc  to  Clinton 
street." 

They  rode  rapidly  northward  and  westward.  They  both 
were  silent.  He  thought  what  foolish  things  men  were.  It 
is  hard  to  tell  what  she  thought.  The  astronomers  say 


96  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

that  attraction  affects  all  bodies — that  though  the  moon  must 
pay  court  to  the  earth,  the  earth  must  forever  acknowledge 
the  power  of  the  moon — that  together,  like  waltzers,  the  two 
bodies  revolve  through  space,  the  true  center  of  gravity  lying 
between  them.  So  it  may  have  been  with  Mary's  influence. 
She  may  have  worried  that  her  satellite  should  go  at  a  tan- 
gent. 

Why  had  shebeen  passing  lovely  in  his  sight?  Seeing 
that  she  was  thus  lovely,  had  not  every  look  and  speech  re- 
ceived a  fictitious  meaning  ?  Had  not  "chops  and  tomato- 
sauce"  been  translated  into  terms  of  undying  affection  ? 

With  the  case  thus  before  him,  Daniel  tried  to  throw  the 
blame  all  on  himself.  Yet  some  things,  like  Macbetli's 
"  amen  ! "  stuck  i'  his  throat. 

"  Mary,"  he  said,  "  it  seems  to  me  that  you  often  used  Er- 
rington  as  a  foil  when  you  were  going  with  me." 

"  Mr.  Errington  has  far  more  to  complain  of  on  that  score 
than  you  have." 

"  Why,  how  is  that  ?  " 

"I  have  been  engaged  to  marry  him  for  over  four  months. 
Can't  you  see  the  ring  on  that  forefinger  ?  " 

Daniel  had  seen  it,  but  he  had  not  known  its  meaning ! 

They  are  on  the  soft  soil  in  front  of  257  South  Clinton 
street. 

He  alighted,  reins  in  hand. 

She  was  quick.  She  did  not  want  him  to  touch  her.  He 
was  glad.  He  bowed,  but  did  not  look  at  her.  He  did  not 
love  her  and  he  did  not  want  to  look  upon  her. 

"I  am  much  obliged,"  she  said,  civilly. 

He  bowed,  was  in  his  carriage,  and  around  the  corner  like 
a  Jehu. 

Over  the  Madison  street  bridge  and  over  the  Clark  street 
bridge  he  went.  The  grade  rapidly  descended  to  Kinzic, 
and  the  railroad  crossed  the  street.  There  was  then  no  via- 
duct there.  He  looked  vacantly  at  a  train  that  was  passing. 


A  6 R AND  WEDDING.  97 

It  might  have  run  over  him  had  he  reached  it  at  the  right 
instant. 

As  he  passed  northward  at  Illinois  street  he  saw  a  number 
of  men  rush  out  and  grasp  the  bridles  of  his  horses.  The 
eyes  of  the  men  protruded  and  they  strove  to  make  gestures. 
He  turned  his  head.  It  was  too  late.  A  runaway  team, 
frightened  by  the  cars,  was  on  him.  The  team  veered  to  the 
left  slightly,  but  insufficiently.  His  light  vehicle  was  lifted  and 
he  was  thrown  to  the  right.  He  saw  himself  approaching  the 
edge  of  the  stone  sidewalk.  He  judged  it  was  death.  He 
was  ready  to  die  so  far  as  earth  was  concerned. 

My  God,  my  father,  and  my  friend, 
Do  not  forsake  me  in  mine  end — 

he  murmured,    and   struck  the  pavement.      The  blackness 
of  night  came  with  a  great  noise. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A  GRAND  WEDDING. 

DANIEL'S  head  had  not  struck  the  stone  pavement.  He  had 
fallen  just  inside  the  stone.  A  wooden  block  well  incrusted 
with  pebbles  had  received  his  head  ;  but  the  block  was  loose. 
A  gas  company  had  dug  a  ditch,  and  in  replacing  the  pave- 
ment had  left  this  block  on  a  cushion  of  sand,  without  the 
plank  beneath  it. 

Daniel  was  taken  to  a  drug  store  to  die,  but  he  did  not 
die.  The  blow  on  his  head  had  not  been  a  fatal  one.  The 
druggist  knew  the  livery  rig  ;  the  liveryman  knew  Daniel, 
and  Daniel  was  soon  at  Mrs.  Trenton's  house.  That  lady 
was  in  great  agitation.  Who  would  not  be  ?  Yet  she  had 
her  senses  about  her-  "  Where  is  the  young  lady  ?  "  she 

7 


98  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

asked.  There  was  no  young  lady  in  the  spider.  That  cheered 
her.  A  lady  of  points  always  considers  herself  responsible 
for  the  welfare  of  every  young  girl  whom  she  patronizes- 
Mrs.  Trenton  sent  word  to  the  office  that  Harmon's  friend 
Daniel  was  badly  hurt.  The  doctors  told  her  to  do  so.  The 
counting-room  sent  up  to  the  foreman  and  the  foreman  sent 
the  news  over  to  Harmon. 

"Mercy,"  Mary  had  said  on  arriving  home,  "  Dan  knows 
I  am  going  to  marry." 

And  Mercy  had  gone  to  the  window  just  in  time  to  see 
Daniel  whip  around  the  corner.  She  wished  he  had  come  in. 
"  Still,  how  could  he  ?  "  she  asked  herself. 

"Well,  Mate,"  Mercy  had  replied,  "he  knows  more  than 
anybody  else.  You  had  better  tell  mother  and  brother,  if 
every  one  is  to  know  it." 

"Humph  ! "  the  capricious  maid  had  said.  "  Time  enough 
for  all  that !  " 

And  now,  within  so  short  a  time,  the  message  came  that 
Daniel  was  perhaps  fatally  hurt ;  would  Harmon  come  at 
once  ?  The  gray-eyed  maiden  turned  ash-color. 

"  That  is  awful !  "  she  said,  and  was  unhappy — perhaps 
the  most  unhappy  she  had  ever  been  in  her  strange  life.  It 
was  the  gravitation  of  human  lives — the  debt  they  owe  each 
other.  Life  is  a  solemn  thing. 

"  Bring  me  my  hat,  sis,"  said  Harmon,  doing  two  or  three 
things  at  once. 

And  Mercy,  when  she  brought  her  brother's  hat,  came 
also  prepared  for  a  sudden  journey  across  town. 

"  1  shall  go  with  you,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  Mercy,"  said  the  mother,  "perhaps  you  can  be  of 
service." 

"•Is  he  dead  ?  "  the  great  black  eyes  asked  of  Mrs.  Trenton. 

"  Oh,  no  !  The  doctors  have  cleaned  and  dressed  his  head. 
They  say  he  will  probably  live." 

Mercy  had  not  known  she  would  be  half  so  glad. 


A  GRAND  WEDDING.  99 

"Mother  thought  I  could  make  myself  useful  to  you,  and 
I  am  going  to  stay  and  nurse  him,"  she  said  peremptorily. 

"  Why  didn't  Mary  come  ?  She  was  dreadfully  anxious  to 
be  here  lately." 

Mrs.  Trenton  was  also  proud  of  Mary,  and  loved  her,  but 
Mrs.  Trenton  was  a  woman  and  could  not  refrain  from  ex- 
pressing her  anger.  She  coupled  this  accident  with  Daniel's 
rejection,  for  she  instinctively  felt  that  Mary  had  rejected 
him. 

The  black -eyed  beauty  said  nothing.  She  installed  her- 
self as  Daniel's  nurse.  That  evening  Harmon  brought  over 
a  trunkful  of  her  things. 

"It  will  be  necessary,  Miss  Holebroke,  to  humor  your 
patient  in  almost  all  his  whims.  He  will  be  out  of  his  senses 
most  of  the  time.  Let  him  imagine  what  he  may  please. 
Just  so  he  do  not  rise  or  be  not  fretted  by  opposition,  all  will 
be  going  well."  So  said  the  doctor. 

There  he  lay,  a  handsome  young  fellow,  just  at  the  thresh- 
old of  early  manhood.  He  had  escaped  the  vices  of  young 
men.  Perhaps  his  misfortunes  had  brought  it  about.  Mercy 
sat  and  admired  his  white  face.  She  brushed  back  his  flaxen 
hair  and  thought  of  his  father  and  of  the  colossal  inheritance 
which  it  had  been  supposed  would  come  to  the  son.  She  had 
read  of  his  marvelous  escape  from  death  at  Canal  street,  for 
it  had  filled  the  Eastern  press.  His  workmates  came  up  to 
see  how  he  was  getting  along  and  to  bring  his  salary,  for  the 
foreman  was  a  kind  friend. 

"  I'd  be  willing  to  be  sick  myself  if  I  could  get  that  pretty 
girl  to  nurse  me,"  the  news-carriers  told  their  comrades  while 
waiting  for  the  first  proof  of  markets  that  night. 

The  young  man's  case  was  much  more  serious  than  had 
been  prognozed.  He  lingered  between  life  and  death  for 
months.  The  pretty  girl  grew  white  with  watching.  Mrs. 
Trenton  would  beg  her  to  go  home  and  let  Mary  come  over, 
but  the  suggestion  pained  Mercy, 


100  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHT. 

t(  Anyway,"  she  would  say,  "  you  know  how  busy  Mary  is. 
She  has  been  sewing  ever  since  Daniel  was  hurt.  She  thinks 
I  ought  to  come  and  help  her." 

For  Mary  was  deep  in  the  mysteries  of  muslin  and  Ham- 
burg edging.  The  sound  of  the  tucker  was  heard  in  the  land. 

And  when  the  sewing  machine  was  not  rattling  away  the 
Alderman  and  his  fiancee,  were  shopping  or  superintending 
the  arrangement  of  the  mansion  on  Ohio  street.  There  was 
much  to  do,  and  the  weeks  went  fast. 

"  I  ought  to  go  and  see  Daniel,"  the  affianced  bride  would 
say,  "  but  I  haven't  had  a  moment  of  time." 

She  was  not  going  to  marry  Daniel.  What  was  Hecuba  to 
him,  or  he  to  Hecuba  ?  Now,  could  she  go,  after  all  ?  Mercy 
was  there ;  that  was  enough. 

She  was  glad  to  hurry  the  nuptials. 

The  Alderman  was  certain  he  was  on  the  right  track.  He 
would  soon  stop  building  wooden  houses  on  leased  ground, 
join  a  North  Side  church,  and  become  ultra-respectable.  It 
suited  him.  Prosperity  has  a  respectable  look  of  itself. 

"  Mate,"  he  would  say,  "  call  me  *  Rafe.'  That,  I  under- 
stand, is  the  proper  thing  on  Ralph.  Wyndham's  actors  all 
say  <  Eafe.' " 

And  the  young  lady  would  box  his  ears  for  his  nonsense. 
Neither  one  was  given  to  kissing. 

"  It's  too  silly,"  said  the  gray-eyed  maid. 

"  Yes,  it  isn't  business,"  the  landlord  would  say,  as  he 
figured.  He  was  greatly  pleased  with  Mary,  or  he  would 
not  have  married  her.  He  had  the  pick  of  his  ward,  and  he 
had  no  entree  anywhere  else — and  wanted  none. 

The  American  woman,  if  left  to  her  own  devices,  washes  on 
Monday,  irons  on  Tuesday,  bakes  on  Wednesday,  and 
marries  on  Thursday. 

"  If  it  were  done,  'twere  well  'twere  done  quickly" — that 
is,  early  in  the  -week,  and  it  is  plain  to  be  seen  that  Thurs- 
day is  the  earliest  available  date  in  the  week,  unless  womanly 


A  GRAND  WEDDING.  101 

methods  are  to  be  disturbed,  and  what  wise  man   would  do 
that  ? 

The  wedding  of  Ralph  Errington  and  Mary  Holebroke 
was  set  for  Thursday  evening  at  8  o'clock,  Oct.  28,  1869. 

Errington  was  to  have  a  magnificent  wedding,  too.  It 
would  have  suited  him  and  pleased  DeKoven  street  to  have 
been  married  at  St.  Mary's,  by  the  Coadjutor  Bishop  of  the 
Catholic  Church.  But  Mary  was  a  Protestant.  Perhaps  the 
'thing  would  have  as  much  tone  at  his  house — so  he  admitted. 
The  other  eighteen  ring  Aldermen  set  out  to  help  their 
marrying  friend.  The  tickets  of  invitation  were  issued  with 
care.  All  the  chiefs  of  corporations,  all  their  brilliant  solic- 
itors, all  the  great  merchants  and  contractors  would  be  on. 
hand.  That  would  make  the  affair  a  success  in  the  papers. 
And  some  of  the  magnates,  who  had  once  worried  over 
getting  in  the  swim  themselves,  would  bring  their  wives. 
And  Mary  would  supply  the  good-looking  young  folks,  for, 
after  all,  what  is  a  houseful  of  big-wigs  if  there  be  no  pretty 
girls  for  the  great  advocates  to  amuse  ? 

The  gas  company  put  up  a  fine  display  of  lights.  The  ca- 
terer made  an  arcade  100  feet  long  to  the  sidewalk.  The 
decorators  put  the  last  touch  on  the  house,  and  fixed  the 
last  tuberose  in  the  wedding-bell.  An  army  of  servants  and 
a  housekeeper  had  taken  the  "  new  look  "  off  things.  It  was 
a  magnificent  establishment — the  best  of  its  day — and  it 
was  situated  in  the  heart  of  the  shadiest  residence  quarter. 
For  trees  are  a  blessing.  Houses  can  be  built.  Trees  must 
grow  slowly.  The  North  Side  bragged  that  it  had  trees 
like  an  old  town  in  the  East. 

"  I  never  want  to  see  this  dusty  Clinton  street  again," 
thought  the  bride. 

"  Merc}'  might  have  been  one  of  my  bridesmaids  if  she 
had  not  been  so  bent  on  nursing  Dan,"  the  bride  said. 
This  would  have  pleased  Errington,  but  at  Mary's  expense. 
Mary  was  a  good-looking  girl  herself.  She  easily  chose  a  bevy 
of  girls  who  at  least  were  no  prettier, 


102  VANIEL  TllENTWORTUY. 

But  then  all  bridesmaids  are  pretty. 

Mr.  Errington  had  been  mean  with  nothing.  He  had  not, 
it  is  true,  touched  the  contractors,  with  a  light  hand.  Yet, 
it  being  a  festal  occasion,  and  the  Alderman  giving  proof 
that  he  was  spending  money  profusely,  all  parties  turned  in 
with  a  willing  hand.  Mary  with  difficulty  persuaded  her 
prodigal  lover  from  asking  the  ineffable  Theodore  Thomas 
for  figures  on  music. 

On  Thursday,  Oct.  28,  1869,  the  haze  of  Indian  summer- 
rested  on  peaceful  Chicago.  The  whole  summer  had  been 
calm,  equable,  halcyon.  The  sick  man  lay  at  Mrs.  Trenton's 
house,  and  gazed  out  on  the  glorious  air,  where  every  rnote 
was  gilded  with  refined  gold.  Mercy  sat  beside  him.  "Oh! 
Daniel,"  she  breathed,  "  I  hope  you  may  get  well." 

He  started,  and  looked  at  her.  The  October  air  recalled 
his  scattered  senses.  It  was  on  these  afternoons  that  he  had 
whistled  the  tunes  for  Mary. 

"  And  may  I  whistle  for  you  ?  "  he  asked,  his  face  wreathed 
with  smiles,  like  the  face  of  some  flaxen-haired  boy,  begging 
favors  of  a  fond  father. 

"  Indeed  you  may,"  came  from  the  beautiful  lips,  and  out 
of  the  eyes  twenty  fathoms  deep. 

There  was  silence  again.     The  great,  cool  sun  went  down. 

"  Come  to  supper,  Mercy,"  Mrs.  Trenton  called.  "  We 
must  be  at  Mary's  early.  Too  bad  you're  not  going." 

"  I  do  not  like  crushes.  They  have  moved  heaven  and 
earth  to  have  the  affair  a  grand  one.  Let  those  enjoy  it 
who  wish  to." 

Mrs.  Trenton  thought  Mercy  odder  than  Mary. 

"Well,"  she  declared,  "if  my  sister  were  making  such  a 
catch,  I  would  be  there.  I'd  believe  you  were  jealous,  if  I 
had  not  heard  Errington  admit  that  you  wouldn't  look  at  him. 
He  said  he  Jiked  you  for  it." 

"Do  you  think  Daniel  is  doing  as  well  as  he  might  do?" 
asked  Mercy.  She  had  forgotten  the  wedding  already. 


A  GRAND  WEDDING.  103 

"  The  doctor  says  so,"  said  Mrs.  Trenton  cheerfully. 

"  He  is  out  of  his  head,  and  yet  the  doctor  would  be  apt 
to  think  him  rational." 

"Well,  you  know  the  doctor  charged  us  to  humor  all  his 
notions,  and  avoid  crossing  him." 

"Yes,"  said  Mercy.     "But  tell  the  servants  to  stay  in." 

"I  declare,"  Mrs.  Trenton  said  to  her  spouse,  "  I  believe 
Mercy  would  have  liked  to  see  us  stay  at  home,  too.  Edson 
Trenton,"  she  said  sharply,  as  she  saw  her  husband  bent  on 
scanning  the  Evening  Post,  "there's  something  in  Mercy's 
actions  that  makes  me  suspect  she  loves  that  boy." 

"Well,  she's  a  hummer.  I  wish  I  weren't  married  my- 
self." And  therein  the  disturbed  reader  had  his  revenge. 

For  on  the  street  cars  wives  cannot  pinch  and  bite  their 
offending  lords  and  masters. 

The  throng,  in  wedding  garments,  entered  the  arcade. 
The  immense  parlors  were  full  at  7.  At  7:30  not  an  invited 
guest  was  absent.  At  7:45  the  celebrated  preacher  arrived 
and  spent  ten  minutes  shaking  hands  with  the  people  nearest 
him.  The  best  man  showed  the  minister  the  license  and  put 
a  hundred  dollar  bill  in  his  hand,  which  the  minister  turned 
over  to  his  wife  with  loud  laments,  for  he  needed  it  to  make 
his  fishing  expense  good.  At  precisely  8  o'clock  the  ushers 
cleared  the  way  for  the  wedding  procession,  and  that  march 
began  which  had  been  so  carefully  rehearsed  under  Mary's 
direction  the  night  before. 

It  is  the  ambition  of  every  woman,  they  say,  to  have  a 
wedding,  with  a  white  veil  and  orange  blossoms. 

And  Mary  certainly  looked  her  best.  The  orange  blossoms 
were  a  small  part.  Her  dress  had  been  designed  in  Paris, 
and  made  by  the  best  artists  in  Chicago.  It  was  simple  in 
cut  but  elegant  in  its  effect.  The  stuff  was  a  rich  creamy 
satin,  which  spread  into  a  very  long  train.  At  the  edge  was 
old  point  lace.  Around  the  neck  was  a  high  ruff  of  real  lace, 
from  the  neck  to  the  floor  was  a  plaiting  of  plush  that  barely 


104  DANIEL  TRENT  WORTHY. 

shaded  from  the  creamy  satin  into  a  deeper  tone.  One  would 
think  that  the  plush  were  the  satin  in  a  cross  light,  or  under 
shadow.  Beneath  the  veil  shone  a  couple  of  trails  of  simple 
vuri-colored  rosebuds  with  long  stems.  The  rope  of  roses 
was  brooched  to  the  neck  with  a  diamond,  traveled  to  the 
waist  diagonally,  and  there  sought  the  trail,  a  rosebud  of 
different  hue  peeping  forth  at  each  span  of  distance. 

The  effect  of  this  rich  dress  and  its  appropriate  trappings 
of  diamond-buckled  slippers  and  many-buttoned  gloves  was 
electric,  so  far  as  the  women  were  concerned.  The  men  said 
she  was  pretty.  The  women  said  more.  They  vowed  she 
was  well  dressed.  "  Where  did  she  get  so  much  taste  ?  " 
asked  the  leader  of  the  haut  ton,  who  had  come  under  pro- 
test. Mary,  this  grande  dame  mentally  resolved,  should 
become  one  of  her  own  set — until  she  had  married  her  daugh- 
ter, at  least. 

The  bridesmaids  were  equally  fortunate  in  their  attire.  The 
groom  and  best  men  were  all  they  should  be — that  is,  nothing. 
For  the  wedding  is  the  one  place  where  women  comes  forth 
and  fills  the  whole  bill.  And  why  the  women  make  men  go 
there  at  all  puzzles  the  oldest  married  wheelhorse  in  existence. 

The  bride  marched  slowly  forward  on  the  arm  of  the  bride- 
groom. The  bridesmaids  and  groomsmen  in  pairs — one,  two, 
three,  four,  five — followed,  bearing  flowers  that  scented  the 
vast  parlors  anew.  The  head  of  the  procession  reached  the 
marriage  bell.  The  men  went  to  the  left,  the  maidens  to  the 
right.  The  long  file  of  twelve  people  faced  the  great  assem- 
blage, which  craned  its  miscellaneous  neck  and  peered. 

The  popular  preacher  stepped  in  front  of  the  chief  actors. 

This  marriage,  which  all  persons  enter  without  much 
thought,  is  proclaimed  to  be  the  most  momentous  rite  we 
have.  We  are  born.  Surely,  there  is  little  ceremony  at  such 
times — outside  the  palace  at  Madrid.  We  die,  and  go  we 
know  not  where.  But  we  marry,  and  alter  every  relation  to 
the  world — and  all  with  a  solemn  word.  Can  it  be  too 
solemn  ? 


A  GRAND  WEDDING.  105 

On  the  right  a  bevy  of  maidens,  all  testifying  by  their 
presence  that  they  believe  in  the  divine  ordinance  of  mar- 
riage. On  the  left,  five  young  men,  who  hope  they  are  go- 
ing to  get  well  out  of  it.  In  front,  the  leader  of  the  haut 
ton,  whose  place  has  been  kept  to  her  with  exceeding  diffi- 
culty and  considerable  backbiting. 

"These  Presbyterian  house-weddings  are  simply  atro- 
cious," says  a  beau  five-feet-four  in  height,  at  the  rear  of  the 
parlor. 

"Everything  is  flat  on  a  leveHloor,"  grumbles  another. 
"  But  I  suppose  the  lunch  will  be  fine.  Keep  near  this  door. 
Those  people  in  front  calculate  on  paying  their  congratula- 
tions and  then  getting  right  down  here.  I've  seen  'em  do  it 
too  often.  We  may  not  see  'em  married,  but  we'll  have  a 
front  place  in  a  corner,  where  no  one  can  spill  coffee  on  us. 
I  thought  I  smelt  coffee  then.  Coffee  has  a  good  odor." 

"  Let  us  pray  !  "  said  the  minister. 

Such  a  command  always  surprises  a  parlorful  of  wedding 
guests.  They  were  so  unprepared  for  it  that  their  heads 
bowed  reverentially.  Man  is  a  religious  animal. 

"  Do  you  take  this  woman  ?  "  "  And  do  you  take  this 
man  ?  "  "And  now."  "And  now  may  the  blessing  of  God 
the  Father."  The  orator  had  a  voice  of  extraordinary  sweet- 
ness and  force.  The  long  questions  rolled  up  the  gradual 
steep  of  their  accent,  and  the  "  Yes "  of  the  bridegroom 
struck  its  discord.  Again  the  ascent  began,  and  the  whisper 
of  the  bride  joined  with  the  last  of  the  interrogation. 

"  What  God  hath  joined  together  let  no  man  put  asunder. 
Let  us  pray." 

By  the  side  of  Daniel's  couch  sat  Mercy  Holebroke,  and 
tears  were  in  her  eyes.  She  was  unhappy.  She  knew  that 
Mary  was  marching  at  the  head  of  the  company  and  leaping 
this  moment  to  a  social  place  for  which  she  would  have  paid 
whatever  price  might  have  been  asked.  Mercy  was  glad  she 
had  a  sufficient  excuse  to  stay  away,  and  yet  she  was  sad  in 


106  DANIEL  TRENTWORTllY. 

that  she  should  desire  to  absent  herself  from  an  occasion  so 
splendid.  We  are  social  beings.  We  feel  most  at  ease  when 
we  are  committing  the  follies  on  which  all  our  fellows  are 
bent.  Mercy  pondered  whether  she  had  done  right  or  wrong. 

"  Mary  did  not  want  me  there,  except  for  the  looks  of  it," 
she  said,  "and  not  one  in  fifty  will  know  she  ever  had  a 
sister." 

And  then  she  looked  at  poor  Daniel,  and  was  glad  she  was 
with  him. 

For  he  was  gazing  lovingly  at  her. 

"  You  could  not  stay  away  from  me ;  could  you,  my  love  ?  " 
he  said. 

"  No,  Daniel." 

"  You  thought  you  did  not  love  me.  That  was  right.  Oh, 
how  you  did  seek  escape  !  My  own,  my  own  !" 

She  wet  the  cloth  and  put  it  to  his  throbbing  brow. 

"I  knew  you  would  come  to  me,  even  if  it  were  an  eternity. 
How  I  have  loved  you  !  Have  I  not,  little  one — say  ?  Have 
I  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Daniel." 

"  I  was  sorry  I  loved  you.     But  now  I  am  glad.     You  will 
never  be  cruel  to  me  again — you  will  not ;  will  you  ?  " 
.    "  No,  Daniel." 

,  "I  am  so  weak  now  it  would  kill  me.  I  would  bear  it 
willingly,  but  I  am  too  ill." 

The  tears  stood  in  her  great  eyes. 

"  I  will  be  kind  to  you,"  she  said. 

,  With  that  he  passed  again  into  seeming  unconsciousness, 
and  Mercy  sobbed.  It  was  a  sad  evening. 

Anon,  the  patient  spoke  again. 

"Kiss  me,  my  little  one,"  he  implored — a  strange  light  in 
his  eye. 

"Yes,  Daniel,"  she  said,  her  heart  beating. 

"  Kiss  me,  my  love.  I  never  asked  it  before.  Please  come 
to  me,  and  forgive  me  all  my 


A  GRAND  WEDDING.  107 

She  looked  all  round  the  room.  Her  face  turned  a  thou- 
sand colors.  She  gave  him  the  shyest  of  a  maiden's  kisses. 

"God  bless  you,  forever,  my  sweet  little  one,"  he  crooned, 
and  raised  his  hand  to  caress  her  shapely  head. 

The  effort  was  too  much.  "  It's  come  !  It's  come  !  "  he 
gasped,  and  pressed  both  hands  to  his  temples,  where  the 
clavus  had  seemed  to  enter. 

She  seized  the  ice  and  passed  it  all  over  his  head  and  face. 
As  she  wiped  the  water  away  she  thought  the  hue  of  death 
was  there.  She  thought  his  face  grew  cold,  she  bethought 
herself  of  the  hot  bottles  at  his  feet.  She  was  everywhere  at 
once. 

Then  she  fell  upon  that  ice-cold  face  in  a  passion  of  grief 
and  kissed  it  in  a  hundred  places. 

She  thought  she  felt  his  heart  beating.  "  Maybe  he  is  not 
yet  dead,"  she  gasped,  and  wondered  that  she  had  not  called 
the  servants.  One  went  for  the  doctor  at  her  behest.  The 
other  took  her  place  as  watcher.  She  seized  her  outer  gar- 
ments, and  .was  out  at  the  park  looking  for  a  car. 

"  Let  me  off  at  Ohio  street,"  she  said,  and  waited  an  eon 
while  the  car  tinkled  down  Clark  street,  the  main  artery  of 
the  North  Side. 

She  hurried  from  Clark  street  toward  the  lake.  She  crossed 
Dearborn,  State,  Cass,  Rush.  The  streets  were  jammed 
with  carriages.  The  drivers  descanted  on  her  good  looks. 
She  sought  the  side  gate.  She  entered  the  kitchen. 

The  guests  had  just  filed  out  to  the  refreshment  tables. 

"  Find  Mrs.  Trenton  and  Harmon  and  Mrs.  Holebroke  !  " 
commanded  Mercy. 

There  was  a  commotion  in  the  supper-room.  Mrs.  Trenton 
was  seen  making  her  way  toward  the  rear  apartments. 

"  Daniel's  dying  !     Can't  they  come  ?  " 

Another  commotion  among  the  guests,  and  others  pushing 
their  way  toward  the  servants'  bailiwick. 

The  rounders  are  ensconced  in  an  absolutely  impregnable 
corner,  Everything  is  within  reach, 


108  DANIEL  TRENT  WORTHY. 

"  These  macaroons  are  devilish  clever.  A  good  macaroon 
must  bend,  you  know.  Didn't  get  a  good  one  last  winter !  " 

"  Say,  don't  stand  too  near  that  castle  of  ice  cream.  The 
whole  campanile  of  the  Florence  Duoino  fell  on  my  coat  last 
Tuesday  night.  I  must  quit  drinking  coffee." 

"Yes,  coffee  is  a  vile  drug.  I  don't  sleep  anymore  at  all. 
Did  you  put  those  two  small  bottles  down  there.  Keep  your 
heel  against  them.  We  must  quit  drinking  champagne,  too 
— after  to-night." 

"  Wright  is  doing  some  good  catering  this  fall — for  so 
early  in  the  season.  I  say,  old  man,  what's  going  on  over 
there  ? " 

"  I  guess  something's  up.  [To  the  next  guest.]  What's 
the  matter  ?  It  isn't  a  writ  of  replevin  on  the  supper,  I 
hope.  Oh!  Yes.  Ah!" 

"  Start  the  music,"  said  Mary,  with  a  set  face. 

The  strains  of  the  favorite  waltz  floated  down  the  grand 
staircase.  The  rounder  could  not  hear  the  remark  of  his 
fellow-guest : 

"  How's  that  ?  " 

«  There's  death  in  the  family." 

"  Well,  we  must  all  die  some  time.  I  suppose  I'll  die  if 
I  fool  with  so  much  of  that  patent  cake.  But  just  save  me 
one  more  piece.  That  will  do.  So  her  cousin's  dead.  Why, 
Errington  told  me  she  was  without  relatives — an  orphan  he 
was  educating.  Don't  eat  those  sandwiches.  They're  potted 
meats." 

The  music  waxed  in  time  and  tone.  The  rounders  made 
merry  and  prepared  for  the  ball.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trenton, 
Harmon,  Mrs.  Holebroke  and  Mercy  hurried  toward  Fuller- 
ton  avenue  in  carriages. 

Nothing  could  buoy  the  spirits  of  the  hundred  women. 

"  What  an  evil  omen  !  "  whispered  the  bridesmaids  one  to 
another. 

The  gay  bride  looked  once  more  at  the  party  as  they  set 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  LOVE.  109 

out.     One  might  have  believed  the  cat  was  in   her  again. 
One  might  have  suspected  that  she  wanted  to  go  with  them. 
Yet  it  would  have  been  only  a  suspicion  at  best. 


CHAPTER  XIII.     / 

THE   ELIXIR   OF    LOVE. 

Do  we  live  logically  ?  Does  one  event  follow  another  in 
due  order,  and  because  of  the  event  preceding  it  ?  Are  none 
of  our  emotions  thrown  away  ? 

For  instance,  you  are  at  your  desk,  bent  on  great  deeds. 
Your  pen  and  paper  are  locked  in  a  drawer.  The  key  is  not 
in  your  pocket.  It  is  then  ten  miles  away,  in  the  suburbs  ! 
Shocking  dilemma  !  Panic  of  annoyance  !  It  is  wise  to  look 
in  your  vest-pocket.  The  key  is  there  !  The  work  is  possi- 
ble. One  minute  of  the  vilest  apprehensions  and  disappoint- 
ments. Was  it  logical  ^useful  ?  Had  it  genesis  ?  Did  it 
also  spawn  into  eternity  ? 

Now  Daniel,  though  he  had  appeared  in  those  unpracticed 
though  beautiful  eyes  of  Mercy,  to  approach  rigor  mortis, 
was  not  to  die.  The  little  group  coming  from  the  wedding 
gathered  by  the  bedside,  and  thankfully  saw  that  the  doctor 
had  already  restored  him. 

"  It  was  a  collapse,"  said  the  doctor.  "  I  presume  it  is  the 
turning  point  for  the  better." 

Harmon  joyfully  carried  back  the  news  to  Ohio  street; 
Mary  was  glad.  But  it  counted  little  with  the  wedding 
guests.  It  would  seem  vulgar  to  force  one's  family  affairs 
on  their  attention,  and  the  bridesmaids'  superstitions  having 
been  aroused,  could  never  be  laid. 

But  Mercy  wondered  why  it  had  all  happened.     It  was  a 


HO  DANIEL  TRENTWORTTIY. 

hard  question.  Its  like  bothers  us  all.  She  sought  her  pil- 
low, happy  and  yet  ill  at  ease.  There  was  a  small  statue  in 
Daniel's  room.  Its  face  made  her  blush  with  maidenly 
shame.  She  wished  she  had  not  come  to  nurse  Daniel.  She 
wished  she  had  not  gone  down  to  Ohio  street.  She  wished 
she  had  attended  the  nuptials  as  a  guest.  Yet  when  she 
thought  of  the  ashes  that  had  seemed  to  gather  on  Daniel's  face, 
she  knelt  in  her  white  robe,  pressed  her  throbbing  brow  into 
the  coverlet,  and  thanked  God  Daniel  had  lived.  And  then, 
as  she  blushed  once  more,  she  thought : 

"  I  would  be  thankful  that  anybody  recovered — '  even  the 
least  of  these  '  " — and  slept — for  women  sleep  far  better  than 
men. 

The  wedding  trip  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Errington  must  be  a 
short  one,  as  Mr.  Errington's  business  pressed.  Mary  in- 
tended to  go  to  Europe.  That  was  why  she  had  married — 
so  she  supposed.  But  her  husband  could  not  start  until  the 
Council  adjourned  for  the  summer.  Besides,  he  was  just 
now  starting  a  company  which  was  to  erect  smelting  works, 
make  Babbit  metal,  and  assay  ore  that  could  now  be  brought 
over  the  new  railways. 

While  the  dance  went  on  Mrs.  Errington  retired,  doffed 
the  magnificent  robe  of  marriage  and  reappeared,  the  quiet, 
go-ahead  lady  of  the  house,  ready,  in  traveling  dress,  for  a 
ride  to  New  Orleans.  She  would  rather  that  the  trip  had 
been  deferred,  for  she  disliked  to  go  away  with  Daniel  dying. 
She  received  the  news  of  his  restoration,  with  the  hopes  of 
his  doctor,  just  as  she  was  leaving  the  mansion.  A  half  hour 
before  it  would  have  been  sufficient  to  know  he  lived.  Now 
she  compared  her  course  with  Mercy's,  and  wished  she  might 
stay. 

"  I  dislike  going,"  she  said  to  Errington,  "  because  there 
are  many  things  about  that  big  house  that  need  attention. 
I  want  you  to  let  me  bring  over  as  many  of  my  mission  boys 
and  girls  as  we  can  use," 


THE  ELI X in  OF  LOVE.  HI 

"  All  right,  sis,"  he  smiled.  "  I  like  to  see  you  interested 
in  the  house.  That's  what  I  married  you  for." 

They  were  a  practical  pair — gray-eyed,  both  of  them.  Both 
wore  gray  suits.  Neither  carried  much  baggage  or  weight. 

And  yet,  with  all  her  practicality,  how  much  had  my  lady 
of  caprice  ever  studied  the  wishes  of  others  ?  How  long 
would  dear  Ralph  pass  as  a  companion  ?  The  thing  bored 
him  anyway.  He  had  done  it  because  respectability  had  be- 
come his  god.  He  was  now  a  man  of  affairs,  who  found  it 
difficult  at  all  times  to  recollect  Errington,  the  boodle  Alder- 
man, exalted  as  a  man  of  extraordinary  social  parts.  Mercy, 
who  endured  him  because  he  was  to  be  her  brother,  he  almost 
worshipped — respectfully.  The  man  who  would  have  in- 
sulted Mercy  would  have  heard  from  Errington.  Mary  had 
married  him  because  she  did  not  believe  that  life  on  an  un- 
paved  street  was  respectable  or  practicable — for  her.  She 
had  not  learned  what  poor  Errington  knew — that  the  im- 
provements should  be  put  on  the  character,  not  on  the  house. 
So,  by  the  time  the  pair  had  reached  New  Orleans,  Mary  was 
as  well  bored  as  her  husband.  She  had  there  a  letter  from 
Mercy.  Daniel  continued  to  improve.  The  wife  wanted  to 
shorten  the  trip. 

"  What  ails  me  ?  "  she  wondered,  petulantly. 

And  in  the  house  at  Fullerton  avenue  Daniel  was  grad- 
ually restored  to  sound  mind. 

"  Ah !  Mercy,"  he  said  one  afternoon,  "  is  that  you  ? 
Where  am  I  ?  " 

"  At  Mrs.  Trenton's,  Daniel." 

"Haven't  I  been  sick  a  long  time  ?  " 

"  A  very  long  time,  Daniel." 

"  Oh,  I  remember.  I  was  thrown  from  a  buggy.  Was 
the  buggy  broken  ?  " 

"  Not  seriously  ;  but  your  head  was." 

"  Ah  !  yes,  I  thought  death  had  come.  Mercy,  how  hard 
it  is  to  die,  isn't  it  ?  " 


112  DANIEL 

11  It  is  for  you,"  she  said.  She  was  nervous  and  excited. 
She  could  have  wished  lie  had  remained  her  patient  forever. 
,  "  Mercy,  where  is  your  sister  ?  " 

"  In  New  Orleans." 

"  In  New  Orleans  ! "  He  looked  at  her  in  blank  astonish- 
ment. "  Oh  ! "  he  said,  without  emotion,  "  she  must  be  mar- 
ried." 

Mercy  said  not  a  word. 

"  She's  married,  isn't  she  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  Daniel,  she's  married — to  Errington/' 

He  lay  there  and  thought. 

"Well,  Mercy,"  he  said,  "  I  believed  at  one  time  that  to 
see  Mary  marry  another  man  would  kill  me.  It  doesn't — 
does  it  ?  "  He  smiled. 

Mercy  looked  at  the  statue,  and  her  cheeks  mantled  with 
shame. 

"I  shall  always  like  her,  because  she  is  your  only  sister, 
Mercy.  But  I  shall  not  love  her.  She  need  not  fear  that. 
My  love  for  Mary  was  based  on  some  misapprehensions  of  her 
character." 

His  face  was  mortally  sad — as  sad  as  death.  But  he  spoke 
the  truth. 

"  I  told  her  I  should  not  want  to  meet  her  any  more,  but 
1  shall  not  be  unwilling.  I  am  glad  she  married  Errington. 
I  would  hate  to  see  harm  come  to  her,  because,  Mercy — be- 
cause 1  loved  her,  once." 

"  I  hope  she  will  be  happy,"  said  the  girl,  simply. 

"  She  was  always  very  thoughtless  of  others.  I  have  tried 
to  avoid  walking  even  on  sandflies,  because  I  thought  Mary 
did  not  think  quite  enough  on  such  things — not  sandflies, 
but  human  feelings.  Oh  !  Mercy,  you  have  been  so  different. 
I  shall  be  your  brother  all  your  life  !  God  bless  you,  Mercy  !" 

It  pained  the  girl  to  the  heart.  Her  bosom  rose  and  fell 
tumultuously  ;  but  he  was  blind.  He  did  not  look  closely 
at  women.  He  was  a  trifle  shy  of  thern,  at  best.  He  now 


'  This  is  a  little  cap  the  boys  want  you  to  wear  '       Page  59. 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  LOVE.  113 

regarded  them  as  doubly  dangerous  to  the  welfare  of  men. 
He  could  remember  only  Helen  of  Troy  and  Lady  Macbeth. 

He  loved  Mercy  like  a  sister.  What  other  term  of  endear- 
ment could  she  expect  from  him  ?  She  secretly  wiped  her 
tears  away,  and  made  glad  that  he  was  convalescing. 

"  Mary  will  be  back  next  week,  and  writes  that  she  shall 
expect  us  all  at  her  house,"  the  maid  said,  a  few  days  after- 
ward. 

"  I  will  go,"  he  said.  "  I  air.  glad  Mary  invites  me.  I'll 
show  her  I'm  cured."  He  spoke  with  a  feeling  of  humilia- 
tion for  his  folly  of  the  past  year.  "  For  thou  knowest  that 
we  are  but  as  grass,"  lie  chanted  to  himself.  He  gazed  on 
the  beautiful  girl  who  bustled  around  preparatory  to  leaving 
for  home. 

"  You  owe  your  life  to  Mercy  Holebroke,  young  man," 
said  Mrs.  Trenton,  in  a  menacing  tone.  "  She  has  been  here 
half  the  time." 

"  I  owe  her  a  big  nurse's  bill,  then,"  he  laughed.  And  as 
he  watched  her  the  vision  of  all  her  loveliness  came  to  him 
for  the  first  time. 

"  My,"  he  thought,  "  how  lucky  I  was  I  did  not  fall  in 
love  with  her  !  She  would  have  been  sorry  for  me.  i$he 
would  have  been  good.  And  the  memory  of  it  would  have 
killed  me.  What  eyes !  What  a  neck !  What  superb 
braids  of  hair !  What  a  complexion  !  I  wonder  if  I  ever 
looked  at  her  before." 

Familiarity  with  her  charge  had  put  the  girl  off  all  con- 
straint in  his  presence.  She  stood  at  the  glass  and  arrayed 
herself.  A  handsome  woman  looks  particularly  well  when 
her  arms  are  up  and  her  whole  mind  is  on  some  hairpin  that 
has  proved  entirely  recreant. 

Daniel  was  watching  her  like  a  hawk.  "  Ah,  I  am  warned 
in  time.  She  is  most  beautiful — in  form  and  spirit.  For 
her,  men  are  fated  to  lose  their  sleep,  to  curse  the  breath 
that  gave  them  life,  to  become  the  gibe  of  acquaintances  and 


114  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY^ 

the  foolish  almoners  of  hard-earned  wages.  But  a  little  more 
and  1,  poor  butterfly,  would  have  had  my  wings  burned  off 
once  again.  Even  now  my  heart  goes  toward  her.  Why 
does  God  make  women  such  as  she  is  and  fools  such  as  I 
am  ?" 

He  shut  his  eyes  obdurately.  The  beautiful  woman  looked 
at  him  fondly.  He  was  so  glad  she  was  going,  for  he  felt 
the  weakness  of  his  flesh.  His  chastened  spirit  was  still 
strong. 

"  Good-by,  Daniel,"  she  said,  and  her  own  womanly  pride 
compelled  her  to  be  brief,  for  it  was  in  the  air  that  he  cared 
nothing  for  any  woman  on  earth. 

"  You  are  well  named,"  he  said.  "  You  have  been  an 
angel  of  mercy  to  me." 

And  yet  he  longed  to  tell  her  what  he  had  said  to  Mary — 
that  handsome  women  were  not  careful  enough  of  men's  sus- 
ceptibilities. 

"For,  had  I  not  suffered  the  tortures  of  the  lost,"  he  ob- 
served philosophically;  "  I  should  have  gone  head  over  heels 
in  love  with  Mercy."  He  congratulated  himself  on  his 
escape. 

He  returned  to  his  place  at  the  proof-reader's  desk 

"  Don't  you  let  me  hear  of  any  of  you  smart  Alecks  crackin' 
any  jokes  onto  him !  "  the  foreman  warned  the  sharp-ton gued 
wits.  "  Dan,  any  time  you  want  to  stay  out  till  11  o'clock 
just  do  it,  that  is  till  yoxi're  real  well.  The  boys  are  all 
anxious  to  see  you  catch  on  strong  again." 

So  Daniel  found  it  convenient,  at  Mrs.  Trenton's  urgent 
suggestion,  to  go  over  and  get  Mercy  the  night  of  Mary's  re- 
turn to  the  Ohio  street  mansion. 

"  I  came  to  get  your  mother  and  you,"  said  Daniel. 

"  I  will  wait  for  Harmon,"  said  the  old  lady. 

"  That  is  bad  for  me,"  thought  Daniel,  who  had  calculated 
on  paying  the  greater  part  of  his  civilities  to  the  mother. 

But  Mercy  had  little  to  say.     It  delighted  Daniel.    Keally 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  LOVE.  115 

he  was  getting  his  senses.  Not  every  woman  could  turn  his 
head  now.  He  was  in  a  seventh  heaven  of  self-respect  when 
they  arrived  at  Ohio  street.  The  bride  met  them  at  the 
door.  She  kissed  Mercy,  of  course.  She  came  near  kissing 
Daniel.  She  was  so  pleased  to  think  he  was  sensible. 

"Daniel,"  she  said,  going  straight  to  the  point,  "you 
and  I  could  never  have  agreed." 

"I  am  all  cured,  Mrs.  Errington — Mary,"  he  said,~tor  it 
sounded  too  tragic. 

"Just  the  man  I  wanted  to  see,  Dan,"  said  Errington. 
"Come  in  here — to — this — library — library — that's  it.  You 
see,  this  grand  act  is  newer  to  me  than  it  is  to  you.  Leave 
the  women  to  chat,  and  give  me  a  half  hour  or  so." 

The  Alderman  was  in  extremely  good  humor.  Everything 
had  prospered  with  him,  and  he  wanted  the  whole  family  to 
prosper.  He  reckoned  Daniel  as  a  member  of  the  household. 
The  more  in  the  family  the  more  respectable. 

"Dan,"  he  said,  "my  business  is  getting  too  big  for  me  to 
handle.  I'm  starting  a  smelting  company,  besides.  Now, 
you  ain't  in  very  good  health,  and  you  ain't  getting  rich." 

"I'm  earning  a  pretty  good  salary,"  said  Daniel,  content- 
edly. 

"  Ya-a-s,  but  what  is  it  ?  Now,  Dan,  I'm  going  to  offer 
you  something  good.  Don't  you  play  the  independent  racket. 
I  know  you  won't.  You've  got  pretty  fair  sense." 

Daniel  winced.  He  felt  as  if  he  had  as  little  sense  as  any 
man  he  had  ever  heard  of. 

"  I  want  you  as  a  sort  of  lieutenant,  to  collect  my  rents 
and  keep  my  moneys.  I  shall  need  you  in  a  thousand  ways, 
and  as  1  am  going  to  Europe  in  April,  to  be  gone  a  year,  I 
shall  expect  you  to  take  full  charge  in  my  absence.  It's  a 
big  thing  for  you,  Dan.  Of  course,  you  know  you'll  not  be 
worth  much  before  New  Year's.  I'll  give  you  fifty  a  week 
till  then.  And  next  year,  Dan,  I'll  give  you  a  check  for 
$5,000.  Will  you  do  it,  Dan  ?  How  about  that  ?  " 


116  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

It  looked  to  Daniel  as  if  he  ought  not  to  take  a  place  under 
Mary's  husband.  Yet,  when  he  thought  of  it,  what  was 
Mary  to  him  now — or  what  was  any  other  woman  ?  He 
owed  8300  at  least  on  account  of  his  illness.  He  wanted  to 
make  a  present  to  Mercy. 

"Dan,  I'm  a  man  of  business.  I  know  what's  good  for 
you.  You'll  be  well  off  if  you  come  with  me.  You'll  never 
have  the  offer  again." 

Daniel  went  out  of  that  library  a  hired  man.  Mary  came 
forward  to  meet  him. 

"Did  you  make  terms  ?  "  she  asked,  and  grasped  both,  his 
hands. 

Then  she  had  known  !     It  was  strange. 

Yes,  he  had  made  terms.  He  went  to  Mercy  and  asked 
her  if  he  had  acted  wisely. 

"  Of  course  you  have,"  she  said,  overjoyed  that  his  pros- 
pects had  improved. 

Mary  was  happy  again.  She  was  not  bored.  Why  was 
that  ?  She  gazed  on  Daniel  and  then  on  her  husband. 

"  He's  a  splendid  fellow,"  she  said,  speaking  of  Errington, 
who  was  busy  with  some  estimates. 

"Excuse  me,  folks,"  he  smiled,  "it  is  going  to  cost  money 
to  keep  up  this  sort  of  thing,  and  I  have  a  chance,  early  in 
the  morning,  to  take  another  trick." 

He  was  too  familiar — too  shoppy.  It  angered  Mary.  It 
angered  her,  because  it  humiliated  her. 

"  Daniel  would  have  said  that  differentlj*,"  she  thought. 

And  Daniel  talked  to  Mercy  until,  getting  alarmed  for  his 
safety,  he  sought  Mrs.  Holebroke,  while  Mary  was  contented 
to  have  him  in  her  sight.  She  had  been  anxious  to  get  back 
to  Chicago.  She  had  not  known  why.  Sitting  there,  in 
that  luxurious  apartment,  the  coil  that  had  promised  never 
to  loosen  was  suddenly  sprung  in  her  heart.  She  found 
herself  in  a  panic.  The  room  was  unsteady,  like  a  star  in  a 
telescope.  She  had  lost  Daniel.  But  pshaw !  she  did  not 
want  him  ! 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  LOVE.  117 

She  was  his  constant  attendant.  Had  he  seen  this  room  ? 
Had  he  been  up-stairs  ?  Had  he  tried  the  piano  ?  Wouldn't 
he  whistle  "Vuelta  Zingara?" 

"  Certainly,"  the  young  man  said.  He  whistled  it.  She 
played  the  chords. 

"  How  flat  that  sounds  I"  he  thought.  "What  a  fool  I 
was  ! " 

"  How  remarkable  ! "  she  thought.  "  Why  haven't  all 
men  music  in  them  ?" 

"  Whistle  it  again  ! "  begged  Mercy,  with  her  big  eyes. 

And  Mary  seized  the  request  as  an  excuse  to  begin  the 
solemn  foreplay.  But  she  stopped  as  solemnly. 

"  Once  is  enough  of  that ! "  Daniel  had  said.  For  there 
must  be  a  season  for  him  in  which  all  the  nnisic  of  the  past 
would  jar  on  his  sensibilities.  "  Once  is  enough  ! "  he  re- 
peated, and  left  Mary  with  a  queer  feeling  in  her  heart.  She 
started  to  catch  him  and  pull  him  back  and  make  him  repeat 
the  aria,  but  restrained  herself  barely  in  time. 

"I'll  do  something  foolish,"  she  muttered,  and  set  her 
face  as  she  had  done  the  night  she  heard  Daniel  was  dying. 

It  was  a  strong,  stern  character — slow  to  move.  Above  it 
was  an  impulsive,  moving  caprice,  catching  at  every  passing 
thing.  Caprice  had  married.  Character  was  to  keep  the 
contract  sacred.  Would  character  do  it  ? 

The  young  man  had  never  been  so  happy  before.  Happi- 
ness, for  him,  meant  peace,  rest.  He  gazed  upon  the  future 
and  saw  a  release  from  the  proof-desk,  and  thereby  escape 
from  the  memories  that  clustered  there.  Two  women  loved 
him,  and  though  he  did  not  consciously  suspect  it,  it  is 
hardly  probable  that  he  could  have  failed  to  profit  mentally 
in  an  atmosphere  so  favorable. 

The  young  wife  of  the  Alderman  gazed  on  Daniel  with  a 
rapidly-growing  satisfaction.  She  went  over  the  recital  on 
the  drive.  "Goodness  !  "  she  ejaculated,  "  how  the  boy  loved 
me  !  I  hope  I  am  not  going  to  love  him  that  way ! " 


118  DANIEL  THENTWORTHY. 

She  pondered  on  her  situation.  At  every  thoguht  of 
Daniel's  faithful  devotion,  which  was  now  as  clear  as  day  to 
her,  her  heart  bounded  in  gladness.  "Nobody  else  will  ever 
love  me  that  way!"  she  murmured.  "I  ought  to  have 
known  that  such  a  devotion  would  kindle  me  at  last  1 " 

Her  heart  sank  in  an  abyss  of  fear  that  she  had  lost  him. 
Then  light  came  to  her  again.  For  women  are  far  more 
hopeful  and  yet  more  practical  than  men. 

"He  loves  me  or  he  would  not  be  here  to-night,"  she 
thought,  and  as  the  she-tiger  rises  and  lashes  her  great  tail 
when  the  cub  is  taken  out  of  her  cage,  so  this  gray-eyed  wife 
surged  with  electric  power,  and  yet  was  still. 

"  He  loves  me.  Love  is  eternal.  He  can  no  more  escape 
me  now  than  he  could  at  257  Clinton  street.  He  thinks  he 
can — that  is  all.  I  have  him,  already." 

The  refreshments  were  under  discussion.  It  was  hard  for 
the  hostess  to  restrain  herself.  She  desired  to  show  her 
preference  for  Daniel. 

With  much  misgiving  the  young  man  had  taken  his  seat 
beside  Mercy,  and  Mercy  was  happy. 

He  looked  into  her  eyes  once  or  twice.  "  I  must  not  do 
that,"  he  thought.  "  I  wish  I  could  tell  her — but  I  cannot 
— she  is  too  good." 

He  was  urged  to  tell  her  that  she  ought  to  be  more  care- 
ful with  young  men ;  that  they  were  very  foolish  and  vain  ; 
that  they  thought  they  could  have  any  woman  whom  they 
really  loved.  If  she  only  knew,  Mercy  would  not  be  so  free 
with  her  favors — as  Mary  had  been.  If  she  only  knew  what 
depths  of  torture  there  were  in  a  disprized  love,  she  was  so 
true  and  tender  that  she  would  never  arouse  such  a  tempest 
until  she  was  ready  to  calm  it  with  her  own  love. 

"  She  is  too  beautiful !  I  cannot  do  it.  I  owe  her  too 
much."  So  the  young  man  quieted  the  voice  of  duty  to  his 
own  sex.  To  hurt  her  feelings  would  be  a  sad  repayment  of 
the  great  debt  he  owed  her. 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  LOVE.  119 

The  wife  saw  Daniel  and  Mercy  chatting  together,  and 
her  face  clouded.  "  Mercy  nursed  him, "  she  pondered. 

"  But  she's  as  proud  as  Lucifer.  She  has  always  said  she 
would  never  take  my  leavings,  and  she  has  often  told  me  he 
loved  me  to  distraction." 

She  watched  them  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  being  particularly 
vivacious  and  attentive  to  her  husband's  needs — he  needing 
nothing.  Then  she  said  to  herself  : 

"  It's  as  plain  as  day  that  he  cares  not  a  straw  for  her,  at 
any  rate." 

And  yet,  when  the  she-tiger  rose,  when  that  great  tail 
rapidly  moved  as  a  warrior's  sword  comes  out  of  its  sheath, 
one  who  could  have  looked  down  into  that  gray-eyed  woman's 
soul  would  have  seen  danger  to  man  or  devil  who  stood  in 
her  way. 

Her  impulse  came  upon  her. 

"  Merce,"  she  said,  "  we're  going  to  take  you  to  Europe 
with  us  in  April." 

"  That  will  be  bully,"  said  Errington,  who  had  never 
heard  of  this  project  before. 

Mercy  looked  with  deep  inquiry  into  Daniel's  eyes.  She 
so  longed  to  see  him  express  his  disapprobation  of  this  idea. 
She  had  not  wanted  to  leave  Daniel  at  Fullerton  avenue. 
She  did  not,  now,  want  to  go  away  from  him  a  whole  year. 

Daniel  was  full  of  his  new  life  as  a  man  of  affairs.  He 
would  have  to  build  the  smelting  works.  He  heard  with 
actual  delight  of  this  European  trip  for  both  his  women 
friends.  All  the  tempters  he  had  ever  known  or  ever  should 
know  would  be  across  the  wide  seas.  "  I  shall  not  make  a 
fool  of  myself  for  a  while,  anyway,"  he  bragged  to  himself. 

"  Go,  Mercy,"  he  said,  as  she  peered  for  advice  into  his 
eyes.  "  I  took  your  judgment  to-night ;  now  you  take 
mine." 

"  You'll  go,  won't  you,  Mercy  ?  "  said  Errington,  taking  a 
new  interest  in  the  summer's  programme  of  pleasure. 


120  DANIEL  TRENTWOETHY. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  beautiful  girl,  proudly  ;  "  I  shall  be  glad 
to  go." 

And  Daniel  gazed  in  rapt  admiration  upon  her. 

"  o!^o\v  I  am  on  safe  ground,"  he  said,  and  made  himself  de- 
lightful to  two  women — to  one  who  loved  him  madly,  and  to 
another  who  loved  him  as  well  as  any  man  may  deserve  to  be 
loved. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE  SHOE  ON  THE  OTHEK  FOOT. 

THE  plan  of  the  Smelting  Works  Company  was  well  worth 
Alderman  Errington's  attention.  It  was  to  be  stocked  for 
$250,000,  in  2,500  shares  of  6100  apiece.  It  was  to  involve 
the  expenditure  of  about  $300,000.  Only  a  minority  of  the 
stock  was  to  be  sold.  Midway  in  the  scheme  a  heavy  assess- 
ment was  to  be  levied,  and  as  the  stock  was  to  be  sold  only 
to  small  holders,  a  heavy  depreciation  in  the  shares  was  to 
be  forced  by  their  manipulator,  and  the  most  of  the  minority 
stock  was  expected  to  come  back  to  Errington.  Building 
thus  began  in  January.  In  May  little  had  been  done  and 
much  had  been  spent  among  contractors,  who  had  paid  well 
to  get  their  jobs.  It  is  one  of  the  strangest  things  in  the 
world  that  a  man  will  report  the  loss  of  an  old  overcoat  to 
the  police,  while  he  will  take  little  note  of  the  manipulations 
by  which  the  piece  of  paper  in  his  pocketbook  has  been  re- 
duced in  value  from  $100  to  $1.  Knowing  this  peculiarity 
in  men,  Ralph  Errington  cleared  $50,000  by  having  faith  in 
the  future  of  his  smelting  company  after  the  $100-men  had 
lost  faith. 

Daniel  was  at  the  Ohio  street  mansion  much  oftener  than 
he  would  have  wished.  He  had  created  a  sensation  on  quit 


THE  SHOE  ON  THE  OTHER  FOOT.       121 

ting  the  proof-room,  for  all  newspaper  men  dream  of  leaving 
the  business.  His  salary  was  computed  at  $10,000  a  year, 
and  three  of  his  quondam  comrades  at  once  went  into  store- 
keeping  for  themselves,  where  the  grand  worry  of  getting 
reut  for  their  landlord  settled  down  on  them  and  made  them 
gray  before  their  time. 

"  My  wife  likes  to  have  me  do  as  much  of  this  planning  at 
home  as  I  can,"  Errington  would  say  to  Daniel.  It  was  ex- 
traordinary how  much  interest  the  wife  took  in  the  smelting 
works.  She  learned  what  metals  were  to  be  turned  out,  what 
chemicals  were  to  be  used,  what  money  was  to  be  made ; 
and,  altogether,  she  was  around  the  library  entirely  too  much. 

"  She's  queer,"  said  Daniel.  "  I  have  always  misunder- 
stood her." 

She  hovered  over  him.  She  was  patient — far  more  patient 
than  he  had  been.  But  as  she  waited  for  the  return  of  the 
love  that  had  burned  within  him  the  fires  of  her  passion 
would  sometimes  leap  overhigh.  She  had  underrated  his 
sense  of  honor. 

"  He  is  blind !  "  she  would  say,  in  rage. 

But  he  was  above  the  crime  of  loving  married  women. 
The  thought  had  never  entered  his  head. 

After  weeks  she  saw  it.  It  made  her  mad  with  very  envy 
to  possess  him. 

"I  had  the  man's  soul  once.  He  would  have  followed  me 
to  perdition  then,  and  love  is  eternal — it -must  be." 

She  would  order  her  carriage,  and,  reaching  the  drive  over 
which  they  had  coursed,  she  would  send  the  coachman  back 
home  alone.  Then  she  would  strive  to  remember  the  spot 
where  the  proof-papers  had  been  thrown  away. 

"  Oh  !  If  I  could  only  find  a  single  sheet !  "  she  would  la- 
ment. "  What  a  fool  was  I !  " 

The  winter's  snows  had  lain  on  the  ground.  A  piece  of 
white  print  paper — what  is  it  ? — passing  fragile.  She  found 
no  token  of  that  ride. 


122  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

"  I  am  happy  ! "  Daniel  would  say.  "  Why  did  not  God 
give  me  some  humility  that  I  might  have  escaped  the 
scourge  ? " 

The  young  man's  financial  situation  rapidly  eased.  He 
settled  with  Mrs.  Trenton  munificently — far  beyond  that 
good  lady's  wishes. 

"  I  want  to  get  Mercy  a  present  for  her  birthday,"  he  said. 
So  together  Daniel  and  Mrs.  Trenton  went  shopping.  On 
State  street  they  met  Maiy.  They  told  her  their  mission. 
The  gray-eyed  wife  was  jealous  of  Mrs.  Trenton. 

"  Wh}r  did  you  not^isk  me  to  go  with  you  to  get  Mercy's 
present  ?  "  she  scolded  the  next  day  in  the  library. 

Daniel  began  to  be  thankful  he  had  not  married  Mary. 
She  was  morose,  and  seemed  unamiable.  Her  "  magnetism  " 
counted  for  less  every  day. 

Erringtori  knew  Daniel  had  a  present  for  Mercy.  It  was 
hidden  in  the  library,  and  Mercy  was  over  at  the  mansion 
this  afternoon. 

"  Come  in,  Mercy,"  the  Alderman  said  ;  "  Dan's  got  some- 
thing for  you." 

"Why  do  you  want  to  tease  her  ?  "  Mary  said  spitefulty, 
as  though  she  thought  her  husband  made  too  much  of  his 
sister-in-law.  She  was  secretly  glad  of  his  admiration  for 
Mercy. 

Mercy  came  in.  The  women  were  to  start  for  New  York 
the  next  week.  Daniel  was  safe.  He  thought  too  much  of 
Mercy — he  saw  her  beauty  too  well — with  an  eye  far  too 
practiced — to  want  her  near  him  much  longer. 

"  Mercy,"  he  said,  "  you  know  I  am  not  rich,  but  I  wanted 
to  show  you  my  appreciation  of  your  goodness  and  mercy  to 
me  last  fall.  It  is  a  nice,  useful  present — that  I  know,  for 
I  have  seen  you  fuss  with  your  hair  a  great  many  times." 

The  girl  blushed — but  with  pleasure. 

The  young  man  had  bought  for  her  a  triple  looking-glass, 
then  a  high-priced  Parisian  novelty.  The  edges  of  the  three 


THE  SHOE  ON  THE  OTHER  FOOT.       123 

plates  were  bevelled,  the  backs  were  elegantly  decorated,  and 
the  girl,  putting  her  fine  head  between  the  two  side  glasses, 
could  see  every  part  of  her  coiffure  at  the  same  time.  A 
Russia  leather  case,  with  handle,  made  the  glass  portable 
and  convenient. 

She  was  delighted,  and  was  enough  of  a  woman  to  at  once 
see  if  her  hair  were  arranged  at  its  best. 

Daniel  laughed.  A  man  descries  the  natural  traits  of  the 
fair  sex  with  an  odd  satisfaction.  *f  God  made  them  so,"  says 
the  man,  and  gives  his  approval.  / 

"  Mercy,"  he  said,  "  there  aren't  many  girls  who  need  a 
Parisian  mirror  as  badly  as  you  do." 

He  watched  her  womanly  glee  with  a  pleased  air.  He 
thought  he  had  merely  touched  the  feminine  chord  in  her 
nature. 

The  wife  saw  him.  She  could  not  understand  his  thoughts, 
and  she  could  not  restrain  her  impulse.  For  a  moment  she 
was  rash. 

"  You  made  me  no  present !  "  she  complained. 

He  turned  upon  her  in  surprise. 

"  Did  you  aid  Mercy  when  I  was  sick  ?  "  he  inquired,  in- 
nocently. 

She  was  confused.  It  was  well  Mercy  was  so  happy  that 
she  could  not  see  or  hear. 

It  was  well  Ralph  Errington  had  those  minor  shareholders 
where  they  must  let  go  and  give  him  their  $50,000.  He 
could  see  such  chances  to  make  money.  He  could  not  see 
that  his  wife  was  in  love  with  another  man. 

As  for  Daniel,  he  did  not  believe  that  women  ever  loved  at 
all.  He  was  safe.  They  could  not  harm  him  further. 

"  Better  that  I  suffered,"  he  soliloquized  ;  "  wisdom  comes 
at  a  great  price." 

He  took  Mercy  home.  "  I  am  very  happy,"  he  said,  "  and 
I  feel  I  owe  my  life  to  you,  my  sister." 

Why  could  she  not  accept  his  brother's  love  ?    Why  could 


124  DANIEL  TRENTWO^THT. 

she  only  blush,  and  be  happy  and  miserable  b}'  turns  ?  Why 
could  she  not  warn  him  that  Mary  was  too  free  with  him  ? 
Oh !  she  could  not !  She  could  not ! 

"Daniel,"  she  said,  "  I  would  rather  not  go  to  Europe." 

"Pshaw! "  he  said,  "  you  only  fear  the  voyage.  It  will  do 
you  good,  Mercy.  I  do  not  think  you  look  quite  as  fresh  as 
you  once  did." 

Now,  why  should  he  say  that  cruel  thing  to  the  beautiful 
woman  who  loved  him  ? 

She  said  :  "  I  will  go  if  you  think  it  will  make  me  look 
any  better." 

"  That  is  a  good  sister,"  he  said,  and  marveled  that  he  kept 
his  head  so  well.  "  Oh  !  "  he  cried,  in  triumph,  "  I  have  suf- 
fered, but  I  am  strong.  I  wonder  why  Mercy  doesn't  get 
married,  too  ?  I  suppose  she  must  be  engaged,"  and  he 
peered  at  her  forefingers.  They  were  bare.  "  An  awful 
pretty  hand  and  foot ! "  Le  admitted. 

The  wife  debated  her  journey  to  Europe  with  increasing 
anxiety.  "  I  need  time,"  she  said,  and  I  shall  have  Mercy 
with  me.  The  danger  lies  with  Mercy,  though  Daniel 
doesn't  know  it,  I  think.  He  loves  me  or  he  would  love  her. 
When  he  shall  cease  to  feel  my  influence  he  will  begin  to 
feel  hers." 

And  it  was  true  that  Daniel  was  afraid  of  Mary.  He  re- 
membered the  terror  she  had  caused  him.  She  did  not  know 
that  this  very  terror  was  an  eternal  barrier  between  them  now. 

'"'  I  wish  Daniel  could  go  along  with  us,"  she  said  to  her 
husband. 

An  idea  struck  Errington.     It  pleased  him. 

"Mate,"  he  answered,  "do  you  think  Dan  could  gallivant 
you  women  through  Europe  a  year  without  creating  a  talk 
here  ?  If  I  thought  so,  by  George,  I'd  get  out  of  going  my- 
self." 

"  There  are  two  of  us — Mercy  and  I,"  she  said,  sugges- 
tively. 


THE  SHOE  ON  TJTE  OTHER  FOOT.  125 

'•'  That  settles  it !  "  he  said,  well  rid  of  a  duty  that  had  an- 
noyed him.  "  I'll  send  Mr.  Dan.  He'll  probably  be  tickled 
to  death." 

Daniel  came  in.  "Dan,  old  boy,"  said  the  Alderman, 
"we've  settled  it  that  you  are  to  take  the  women  to  Europe 
next  week,  in  my  place." 

Now,  what  a  foolish  thing  that  would  be  for  a  young  man 
who  was  already  as  near  loving  Mercy  as  was  Daniel.  He 
pictured  himself  as  a  lover  once/ more — as  a  man  to  whom 
business  and  usefulness  were  secondary  things — and  his  soul 
revolted. 

The  wife  did  not  dare  to  ask  him  to  go.  Yet  she  would 
have  given  years  of  her  life  to  have  fallen  at  his  feet  and  told 
him  she  could  not  live  a  year  from  him. 

"Mr.  Errington,"  he  said  firmly,  not  knowing  what  might 
come  of  it,  "  it  is  not  business,  and  I  am  not  going  to 
Europe." 

He  supposed  Mary  would  revenge  herself  on  him,  and  that 
he  would  have  to  go  back  to  proof-reading.  He  felt  sure  he 
should  fall  in  love  with  Mercy,  and  this  he  knew  too  well — 
or  thought  he  knew — would  be  another  life  in  death. 

And  yet,  he  wished  he  were  stronger.  He  would  have  so 
enjoyed  a  year  with  Mercy.  She  pleased  him  so  well.  "  I 
wish  women  could  love  me,"  he  said. 

He  rather  resented  Mary's  dictatorial  attitude  toward  her 
husband.  It  would  have  caused  Mary  a  night  of  misery  had 
she  heard  Daniel  say  :  "  I  wish  Mary  would  not  try  to  be  my 
boss.  I'm  working  for  Errington."  Yet,  how  could  he  get 
angry  ?  Everything  was  contrived  for  his  comfort. 

If  we,  like  Mucius  ScfBvola,  put  an  arm  in  the  brazier,  our 
hand  is  burned  away.  Nothing  will  restore  it.  If  we  cast 
away  a  soul,  the  soul  is  lost  to  us.  If  love  be  offered  and  we 
refuse  it,  ought  we  not  to  look  well  to  our  own  hearts  to  see 
what  may  be  there  in  response? 

One  morning  Mary  searched  in  the  old  book-stores  for  the 


126  DANIEL  TRENTWOllTUY, 

volume — Daniel's  present — which  she  had  given  away.  She 
had  learned  it  was  finally  sold  in  a  lot  of  books,  and  it  was 
now  her  hope  that  she  might  recover  it. 

That  same  day  a  German  girl  arrived  in  Chicago  from 
Chemnitz.  She  was  on  her  way  to  Japan,  where  her  lover 
would  marry  her.  Between  France  and  Great  Britain,  with 
their  90.000,000  beating  hearts,  through  the  United  States 
with  their  60,000,000,  this  maiden  must  travel  ere  she  found 
one  heart  that  beat  in  unison  with  hers.  Mary  had  read 
about  the  fraulein. 

To  the  beatings  of  such  a  rare  heart  had  Mary  turned  a 
deaf  ear  before  her  own  heart  had  asserted  its  empire. 

"  It  is  worse  than  Mucius  Scsevola,"  she  thought ;  "  I  could 
do  that.  But  I  cannot  give  up  Daniel.  And  then  the  only 
peace  she  had  came  in  the  thought  that  love  was  immortal. 

Mary  was  a  great  lady  on  Jefferson  and  De  Koven  streets. 
She  had  milk  from  Mrs.  O'Leary.  Her  coachman  lived  on 
Forquer  street.  The  mission  was  just  south  of  Polk,  on  Jef- 
ferson. She  patronized  this  thick  population,  and  the  people 
were  often  at  her  house — servants,  messengers,  gardeners. 
They  looked  upon  Mary  as  their  goo.d  goddess. 

"  Dan,  you'll  have  to  take  Mate  to  the  mission,  Sundays," 
Errington  had  said,  and  Mary  had  clung  desperately  to  this 
custom  and  right.  She  lived  in  anticipation  of  it.  She  dis- 
guised her  affection  for  Daniel.  She  lay  as  still  as  ever  poor 
mouse  lay,  for  absence  from  him  was  torture.  And  gray- 
eyed  women  of  Mary's  cast  prefer  that  other  people  should 
endure  the  torture. 

She  rode  with  Daniel  toward  the  Foster  mission  that  chilly 
April  Sunday  with  feelings  most  solemn  and  wretched.  She 
must  at  last  go  from  her  handsome  and  happy  companion,  and 
she  could  hardly  bear  the  thought.  She  wondered  what  black 
fate  had  put  the  Dead  Sea  fruit  of  European  travel  before  her 
maidenly  eyes  when  Daniel  Trentworthy  lived  only  by  her 
smiles.  She  saw  her  good  looks  and  her  vivacity  pass  for 


THE  SHOE  ON  THE  OTHER  FOOT.       127 

nothing  on  him,  and  then  she  saw  them  passing  away  in  her 
gorgeous  mirrors.  The  north  wind  came  down  as  they 
crossed  the  West  Side  bridge,  and  she  shivered  to  the  mar- 
row. 

A  washerwoman  looked  into  the  beautiful  carriage  and  en- 
vied its  mistress. 

"  I  never  was  better  in  my  life  !  "  declared  the  secretary  of 
the  Alderman.  He  felt  a  solemn/ influence,  and  he  wished  to 
shake  it  off.  He  was  happy,  and  was  bound  to  stay  that 
way.  "  Enough  of  the  dark  valley  !  "  he  shuddered. 

At  the  mission  he  saw  Big  Bill,  and  gave  that  worthy  a 
dollar.  That  restored  the  secretary's  good  spirits. 

A  moment  later  the  superintendent  fell  dead.  He  was 
well  beloved.  It  was  a  dreadful  thing.  It  put  an  end  to  the 
session.  It  cut  Mary's  afternoon  short. 

Now  was  the  winter  of  Mary  Errington's  discontent.  The 
haughty  woman  of  six  months  ago  was  almost  despairing. 
The  sudden  ride  back  against  the  benumbing  north  wind 
gave  her  the  feeling  of  death.  She  wept. 

"  I  know  it  was  dreadful,"  said  Daniel,  with  compassion. 
"  He  was  a  great  believer  in  you,  Mary." 

She  could  have  cried  forever  to  hear  him  speaking  soft  and 
low  to  her. 

11  Oh,  Daniel,"  she  sobbed,  "  I  dread  to  go  to  Europe." 

"  So  does  Mercy,"  he  said,  and  wondered  what  Europe  had 
to  do  with  it. 

"  Women  are  very  queer  creatures,"  he  observed,  philo- 
sophically. He  had  heard  Harmon  say  it.  He  had  heard  the 
foreman  say  it.  He  had  heard  Errington  swear  it  by  the 
g-eat  horn  spoon. 

He  was  beginning  to  believe  it  himself ! 


128  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHT. 

CHAPTER  XV. 

ANTIMONY. 

"  I  BELIEVE  Dan  inherits  all  his  father's  financial  ability," 
said  Errington  to  Mary.  "  I'm  glad  I  can  leave  my  busi- 
ness in  his  hands." 

It  cheered  her  to  hear  Daniel  praised.  It  was  all  the  sat- 
isfaction she  had.  She  could  not  yet  be  his  wife.  She  was 
his  mother. 

No  coaxing  would  take  him  to  New  5fork  to  see  the  party 
leave. 

"  It's  business.  The  boy's  business.  Dan,  I'm  going  to 
take  you  in  as  a  partner,"  said  Errington,  approvingly. 
And  then  he  whispered  :  "  When  you  and  Mercy  come  to 
terms.  Eh !  you  rascal,  you  !  I'd  like  to  be  in  your  shoes." 

"  Good-by,  Mercy,"  Daniel  said.  "  God  bless  you,  my 
dear  sister.  I'm  sorry  to  think  you'll  be  away  from  me  a  year." 

"But  it  is  big  luck  for  me,"  he  admitted,  as  he  was  tempted 
to  look  down  in  her  beseeching  eyes. 

"My  !  Mercy  Holebroke  is  a  beautiful  woman  !  "  He  was 
just  getting  back  to  his  eyes  and  his  senses. 

And  was  not  that  a  hard  position  for  a  maiden  who  wanted 
to  cry,  and  who  must  wait  till  her  turn  came  to  bid  good-by 
to  her  mother  ? 

So  Mercy  blushed  and  turned  pale,  and  held  back  her  tears. 

"  Good-by,  Mary,"  he  said,  "  I've  heard  you  say  often  that 
you  would  pluck  out  your  heart  for  a  year  in  Europe.  " 

If  love  were  immortal,  as  this  wife  thought,  she  questioned 
that  this  young  man,  a  volcano  of  affection,  could  leave  her 
without  a  pang. 

Volcanoes  sometimes  become  extinct. 

"  Don't  let  the  grass  grow  around  the  smeltin'  works,  Dan> 
me  boy,"  was  the  injunction  of  the  Alderman,  as  the  train 
pulled  out. 


ANTIMONY.  129 

So  Daniel  was  free  !  It  pained  him  a  little,  as  he  saw  the 
tears  in  Harmon's  eyes  and  heard  the  moans  of  the  mother 
heart.  It  pained  him, a  little.  Mercy  was  a  girl  after  his  own 
ideal. 

But  the  gray-eyed  woman  !  He  was  growing  uneasy  over 
her.  She  had  made  him  too  solemn  last  Sunday  in  the  carriage  ! 
He  had  had  all  the  misery  he  wanted,  and  he  associated  all 
misery  with  women.  He  never  saw  men  in  tears  until  they 
had  been  in  love,  or  married.  "]£rrington  gets  along,"  said 
Daniel,  "but  I  could  not.  " 

He  had  looked  forward  to  this  hour.  He  had  wished  i  t  had 
come  when  he  rode  with  Mary  last  Sunday.  He  took  a  car 
and  rode  to  Mrs.  Trenton's  house.  That  lady  had  just 
arrived  also  from  the  depot. 

"  Daniel,"  she  insisted,  "you  are  a  heard-hearted  young  man, 
or  else  you  are  as  blind  as  a  bat." 

He  looked  quizzically  at  the  good  woman. 

"  You  ought  to  know  Mercy  worships  the  ground  on  which 
you  walk." 

This,  of  all  things,  was  the  most  ludicrous  speech  he  had 
ever  heard  Mrs.  Trenton  make. 

"  So  did  Mary,"  he  said  tauntingly,  "  when  you  thought 
she  could  so  enjoy  a  buggy  ride." 

Her  face  shaded.     "  Tell  me,  Daniel,  about  that  ride." 

"  A  burned  child  dreads  the  fire, "  he  said,  irrelevantly, 
for  he  could  not  keep  his  thoughts  from  Mercy. 

"Will  you  have  some  strawberries,  Daniel  ?  " 

"No,  I  will  never  ask  Mercy  to  be  my  wife  nor  any  other 
woman." 

"  Strawberries,  Daniel?  " 

"Although  I  am  making  lots  of  money  this  year,  I  wish 
some  of  my  old  comrades  who  are  settled  had  it  instead  of  me." 

Mrs.  Trenton  let  him  alone.  He  had  not  thought  to  look 
at  the  locomotive  or  its  engineer.  Would  the  train  go 
through  safely  ? 

9 


130  DANIEL  TllENTWOllTUY. 

He  took  the  long  ride  in  the  street-car  which  he  had  made 
with  heart  so  turbulent  when  the  gray-eyed  maid  was  along, 
and  which  he  and  Mercy  had  taken  so  often  and  so  peacefully. 
He  reached  the  modest  house  at  Clinton  street.  He  be- 
held the  loneliness  of  that  mother  heart,  and  pitied  her.  He 
could  not  put  away  the  feeling  that  a  kindred  feeling  was 
making  him  wondrous  kind.  He  was  not  so  glad  that 
Mercy  was  gone. 

"  Gracious  ! "  he  cried,  smiting  his  breast,  "  she  did  not 
go  a  moment  too  soon.  He  went  to  bed  and  dreamed  what  a 
good  girl  Mercy  was,  and  she  began  to  have  black  eyes  in- 
stead of  gray.  When  he  awoke,  he  remembered  this.  "If 
Mercy  is  losing  the  gray  eyes  when  I  dream,  then  I'm  falling 
in  love  with  her  surely. ''  He  admitted  it  with  self-reproach. 

The  smelting  works  went  forward  with  a  rush.  The  news- 
papers gave  the  institution  free  advertising  galore.  The 
chimney  rose  to  a  height  that  put  it  on  the  level  of  the  shot 
tower  and  the  water-tower  as  a  sight  of  the  city.  The  cupolas, 
and  blasts,  and  cranes,  and  moulding-rooms,  and  treasure- 
house,  and  ore-bins,  and  side-tracks,  were  on  a  magnificent 
scale.  Antimony  had  been  found  as  an  ore  in  Colorado,  silver 
and  lead  were  coming  in  from  Utah  and  Wisconsin.  It  was 
deemed  possible  to  make  all  the  Babbitt  metal,  type  metal, 
white  metal,  gun  metal,  bell  metal  and  amalgams  that  would 
be  used  in  the  West.  A  brass  and  bronze  foundry  was  a  part 
of  the  scheme.  The  stock  was  unpurchasable. 

It  may  be  that  the  great  money-maker,  now  absent  in  Europe, 
had  over-reached  himself.  It  may  be  that  it  was  unwise  for 
him  to  attempt  respectability  with  his  record  open  behind 
him.  The  stockholders  who  had  sold  their  stock  set  up  aloud 
complaint,  and  what  was  more  to  the  point,  laid  plans  for  re- 
venge. When  a  man  occupies  a  political  position,  personal 
revenge  can  nearly  always  be  gratified.  Especially  was  this 
eas^  with  Alderman  Errington's  enemies.  He  had  a  year  to 
serve  in  the  Council,  but  he  had  moved  out  of  his  ward.  He 


ANTIMONY.  131 

was  a  silk  stocking.  The  old  blower  and  striker  had  become 
a  prominent  citizen.  It  made  Jack  and  Bill,  and  Mike  and 
Larry  angry  to  think  of  "  Ralphy "  Errington  as  a  silk- 
stocking.  They  set  out  to  down  him. 

Daniel's  first  letter  to  his  principal  detailed  the  efforts  that 
were  making  in  the  old  ward  to  break  down  the  Alderman's 
following.  "Let  them  go  it,  Dan.  Tell  them  I'm  out  of 
ward  politics.  But  I  will  not  resign  under  fire."  This  was 
Erringtoii's  reply. 

But  it  annoyed  the  husband  to  be  traveling  in  Europe 
while  he  had  so  many  interests  at  stake  in  Chicago.  He  some- 
times doubted  the  advisability  of  being  respectable.  Still 
respectable  he  was.  He  was  proud  of  his  wife.  He  walked 
up  and  down  the  boulevards  and  by  the  shops  of  Paris,  with 
Mercy  on  his  right  arm  and  Mary  on  his  left,  and  he  failed  to 
see  anybody  else  who  looked  "as  well  off  in  women,"  as  he 
put  it.  He  was  astonished  to  find  that  Paris  could  make  a 
fire  ordinance  work,  and  saw  many  things  that  repaid  him 
for  his  journey.  Chicago,  of  course,  was  the  biggest,  most 
wonderful,  and  best  built  town  on  earth — yet  there  were 
people,  and  houses,  and  streets  in  London — so  he  admitted. 
He  would  have  moved  to  London,  except  that  respectability 
came  far  too  high.  He  blessed  his  own  institutions.  "We 
have  but  one  grade  of  nobility,"  thought  the  tourist.  And  in 
his  mind's  eye  he  saw  the  packages  of  greenbacks  he  had  taken 
out  of  the  briber's  fruit-basket. 

"  It  makes  no  difference  how  they  became  Dukes — they  got 
there.  It  makes  no  difference  how  I  got  my  money.  I've 
got  it.  And  I've  got  Chicago." 

He  thought  of  his  400  tenants.  He  thought  of  his  great 
mansion,  his  library  of  10,000  volumes,  all  picked  out  by 
Daniel,  for  the  wife  had  suffered  not  a  book  that  Daniel  had 
not  chosen.  He  thought  of  the  great  smelting-works.  He 
looked  sidevvise  at  his  beautiful  sister-in-law,  and  when  people 
addressed  her  as  Madame  Errington  he  was  by  no  means 

«/ 

insulted. 


132  DANIEL  TBENTWORTIIT. 

When  Mary  arrived  in  Europe  she  heard  a  great  deal  of  a 
case  of  poisoning  by  a  Scotch  doctor  who  wanted  to  get  rid 
of  his  wife.  The  doctor  had  made  an  insidious  use  of  anti- 
mony, in  various  preparations,  and  it  was  the  talk  of  the 
day  that  never  did  mineral  poison  do  its  work  and  leave 
less  trace  of  its  presence.  The  wife  died  so  graduall}',  and 
had  believed  so  implicitly  in  the  fidelity  of  her  murderous 
husband,  that  the  evidence  leading  to  conviction  had  nearly 
all  been  circumstantial,  extraneous  to  the  deed  itself.  Mary 
read  that  a  post-mortem  examination  had  failed  to  reveal  the 
metal.  The  doctor  was  to  be  hanged.  All  the  maudlins  in 
the  civilized  world  were  weeping  for  him.  She  wondered  if 
he  were  leashed  to  a  woman  for  whom  he  had  no  love, 
while  another  love  lay  dormant — while  another  lived  with- 
out whom  life  was  a  nightmare.  She  laid  down  the  news- 
papers with  a  profound  feeling  of  pity  for  the  doctor  and  the 
matter  passed  out  of  her  mind,  and  well  it  might,  for  it  was 
the  first  time  in  Europe  that  her  thoughts  had  once  diverted 
from  the  handsome  young  man  in  Chicago  whose  miserable 
slave  she  now  was.  She  took  note  of  places  and  lions  only  to 
write  about  them  and  send  the  long  letters  to  Daniel.  He 
was  interested  in  the  travels  of  the  party,  and  read  her  de- 
scriptions with  care.  He  answered  her  epistles  with  letters 
of  thanks  and  reread  the  doings  of  the  party  to  the  folks  at 
home. 

And  Mercy — what  should  she  write  ?  If  she  made  the 
Jetter  Ipng,  itr  w,quld  look  forward.  If  short,  she  feared  Daniel 

She  treasured  even  his  brother's 
he,r  honest  self.  She  told  him  she 


"•"iV-  ".r*r*  '    "ffYH    "'  "Mr1    *»•'<•"*          «•»*'    ^Vr    •    ••    •      ,1  i 

v  that  has.  little  and  claims  .much.   r,Ye,t  it  is  the  only 
.?.'fliqv/-Tjn(ll9rii^   t^p'TS   ?"/   *°   JflS""'!^  oil 
pJace  in  the  Syorld  that  .L  sigh  .to.  see.  v   -  ,  , 

x)amel  went  abouc.nis  woi^v  wtli  a  glaAheart.  r  '1  You  are 
KtiKam  ,on  va   ?.p.-rr  9/1    noivjrfTTv'i    ^mfiDBM  SB  iarl    r>,e. 
so  good  to  me,  my  sister,  lie  answered,  "  that  the  time  goci 


ANTIMONY.  133 

by  like  a  summer's  day.  Write  to  me  often.  Do  not  forget 
me." 

One  day  one  of  the  nineteen  ringsters  came  to  Daniel's 
office  and  ordered  that  young  man  to  lock  his  door. 

"  You're  Errington's  smooth  young  man,"  said  the  caller, 
"  and  you  are  in  with  all  his  play.  You  worked  this  smelting 
works  panic." 

Daniel  protested  that  he  knew/  absolutely  nothing  about 
Mr.  Errington's  private  financial  affairs. 

"  It  won't  do,  young  man.  Errington  has  gone  to  Europe 
to  avoid  service,  as  the  lawyers  say.  Now,  you  cable  to  your 
man  that  the  eighteen  say  he  got  $10,000  on  the  deal  with 
the  Sub-Aqueous  Amusement  Company,  and  that  the  eighteen 
has  got  to  have  $5,000  apiece,  before  Aug.  1.  Tell  him  D.  K. 
and  B.  say  so." 

With  that  the  "  hard  man  "  representing  the  eighteen  left 
without  as  much  as  good-by,  and  care  at  last  sat  on  Daniel's 
troubled  brow. 

He  cabled  to  Errington  that  an  Alderman,  representing 
eighteen,  wanted  $90,000.  He  did  not  know  what  to  say, 
except  that  such  a  demand  had  been  made. 

Erringtonj  Mary  and  Mercy  were  at  a  Swiss  hotel.  Mary 
had  passed  a  peculiarly  wretched  day.  She  had  lived  over  a 
thousand  times  those  hours  at  Clinton  street  when  Daniel 
would  tremble  with  pleasure  if  she  but  addressed  him  a  word 
at  supper.  She  thought  with  amazement  of  the  days  and 
hours  that  she  had  denied  the  boy  all  sight  of  herself.  She  re- 
called his  alacrity  when  she  would  ask  him  to  go  over  to  the 
mission,  and  she  coupled  those  happy  walks  down  the  narrow 
Jefferson  street  toward  Polk  with  that  awful  ride  in  the  car- 
riage the  day  the  superintendent  died.  How  she  had  tortur- 
ed the  boy  with  her  declarations  that  she  would  marry  no  man 
who  could  not  keep  a  carriage,  and  go  to  Europe  every  other 
year.  "  1  think  people  ought  to  travel  some  in  their  own 
country !  "  the  girl  would  toss  her  head  and  say,  as  they  passed 


134  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

into  the  still  narrower  way  at  Harrison  street.  Errington 
had  not  come  on  the  scene  then. 

"  Errington  ! "  she  hissed  between  her  teeth,  and  looked 
at  him  as  though  he  had  taken  her  cub  away.  She  had 
moments  of  almost  uncontrollable  fury.  She  was  not  a  woman 
to  be  balked,  and  yet  she  was  hardly  three  months  on  a  tour 
farther  and  farther  away  from  Daniel.  Why  had  she  done  so 
much  to  preserve  appearances  ?  What  were  appearances  when 
the  situation  grew  every  day  more  insupportable  ?  Mercy 
was  getting  letters  from  Daniel,  and  was  not  reading  them 
to  her  sister.  That  fact  alone  made  the  wife's  breath  short. 

There  sat  this  politician,  old  enough  to  be  her  father.  How 
she  resented  his  age  now !  How  she  despised  a  man  who 
would  marry  a  woman  who  did  not  love  him  ! 

He  held  a  dispatch  in  his  hand  and  gazed  at  it  with  clouded 
face. 

"  Mary,"  he  said,  hesitatingly,  for  he  expected  a  genuine 
storm,  "  I'm  afraid  I'll  have  to  post  off  home.  Daniel  ad- 
vises me  to  come.  Business  is  going  wrong — and  this  thing 
takes  money,  you  know." 

An  unexpected  joy  came  to  the  gray  woman's  heart.  It 
was  Daniel's  message  for  Mary  to  come.  It  must  be. 

"  I'm  so  glad ! "  cried  Mercy.  "  I'm  homesick  already. 
I'll  go  back  with  you." 

"  Of  course,  I  do  not  want  to  be  away  from  you,  Kalph," 
the  wife  said  obedientljr. 

Errington  waited  for  no  change  of  opinion.  He  hurried  to 
the  landlord  and  countermanded  all  previous  arrangements. 

Daniel  was  at  the  depot  to  receive  the  tourists.  He  hud 
bad  news  for  them. 

"  Harmon  is  very  sick,  and  your  mother  could  not  leave 
him." 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  asked  both  the  sisters  in  alarm. 

"  Lead  colic." 

"  What  is  that  ?  " 


DIA  THESIS.  135 

"  It  is  a  disease  that  attacks  some  typesetters.  The  type 
gives  off  a  dust,  and  there  is  antimony  in  the  metal  to  keep 
it  hard  and  free  from  rust.  I  suppose  you  know  antimony  is 
a  dangerous  poison." 

"  Yes,  I  have  heard  so,"  answered  the  gray-eyed  wife, 
looking  on  Daniel,  and  gloating  over  the  fact  that  she  had 
rescued  him  from  a  printing  office.  How  good-looking  he 
was  !  How  jealous  she  was  growing  of  Mercy ! 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

DIATHESIS. 

Now  Alderman  Errington  was  not  a  man  to  be  blackmailed 
by  a  fellow-boodler.  He  called  those  ringsters  together  and 
read  the  law  to  them. 

"  You  duffers,"  he  said,  "  can't  expect  to  go  blowing  your 
money  against  wine  and  women  and  then  come  back  on  me. 
Do  with  your  boodle  as  I  did,  and  you  will  not  need  to  whine. 
And  remember  this :  l  Whenever  you  ones  get  ready  to  go 
down  the  road,  I'll  make  the  best  fight  of  you  all  to  get  clear. 
If  I  go  down  for  three  years,  you  will  go  down  for  ten.' " 

To  go  down  the  road  is  the  simple  term  of  the  thieves  for 
the  trip  to  a  penitentiary. 

The  riugsters  shivered.  Their  dream  of  bleeding  Erring- 
ton  was  o'er.  Worst  of  all,  he  would  make  no  more  deals. 

"You'll  have  to  get  in  some  other  go-between,"  he  con- 
cluded. "  I'm  going  to  vote  steadily  agin  the  combination." 

"  What  have  they  got  on  you  ?"  asked  Daniel. 

"Dan,  dear  boy,  they  are  a  pack  of  bloodhounds.  They've 
got  nothing — nothing.  I've  got  it  on  them.  But  say,  my 
boy,  I've  done  a  good  deal  for  you ;  now  haven't  I  ?  Well, 
you  stand  by  me — say,  will  you  ?  " 


136  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

lt  Of  course  T  will.  Don't  you  ever  believe  I'll  go  back  on 
a  benefactor.  I  don't  care  what  you've  done.  I'll  always 
be  true  to  you." 

"  Yes,  Dan  ;  tbat's  you,  I  know  it.  Now  you  take  care  of 
the  women  folks  and  let  rne  fix  them  fellers  over  here  on 
Jefferson.  I  think  we  can  start  the  blasts  in  a  week.  Dan, 
there's  millions  in  that  scheme." 

He  went  off  with  a  will.  He  was  a  born  money-maker. 
"Ha!"  he  thought,  "this  is  pleasanter  than  picking  out 
your  trunks  at  an  English  station.  This  is  a  heap  more 
sensible  than  looking  at  a  church  that  lost  its  boom  in  the 
year  of  our  Lord  1200." 

The  ores  began  to  arrive,  the  hot  blast  began  to  roar,  the 
fumes  of  Araporized  metals  began  to  blast  the  surroundings, 
the  citizens  complained  about  their  eyes,  and  the  great 
oculists  took  specks  of  metal  from  the  iris  at  $25  a  speck. 

"I  ought  to  have  a  rake  on  those  eye-doctors,"  thought  the 
great  smelter.  A  rake  is  a  gambler's  tithe  or  toll,  which  he 
takes  as  payment  for  furnishing  the  arrangements.  The  word 
rake,  alas !  has  been  heard  in  Chicago  far  oftener  than  the 
word  tithe. 

And  Mary  was  much  at  Harmon's  side.  She  conned  the 
encyclopedias.  She  bought  works  on  poison.  She  became 
an  adept  in  diagnosis.  Harmon  mended,  and  went  back  to 
work.  Mary's  antidotes  were  magical  ;  her  prophylactics 
were  worth  Harmon's  carrying.  Often  had  she  tried  to  wean 
Harmon  from  his  trade.  No,  he  liked  it.  She  had  feared  it 
would  injure  her  position  in  society,  but  it  did  not.  He 
would  come  to  her  house  to  take  supper,  and  she  would  hear 
a  low  hiccough.  A  cup  of  strong  tea  would  be  at  hand  in 
an  instant.  "Drink  this,"  she  would  say,  and  Harmon 
would  feel  relief.  She  was  very  skillful. 

"We're  turning  out  a  heap  of  type  metal  and  stereotyping 
stuff  Harm.,"  Errington  would  say  at  such  times. 

"  There's  a  great  deal  of  poisonous  metal  in  the  air  at  the 


DIATHESIS.  137 

works,"  the  wife  would  remark.  "I  was  there  yesterday. 
My  dear,  I  am  so  afraid  it  will  hurt  your  health." 

She  had  not  long  iny-deared  her  husband. 

She  was  growing  thoughtful  and  tender.  It  did  not  ap- 
peal to  Ralph  Errington's  nature. 

"  Fudge  !  "  he  retorted. 

"My  dear,"  she  said,  "you  ^how  its  effects  already. 
You'll  yet  be  as  sick  as  Harmon — and  he  is  foolish  to  stand 
over  a  type  case." 

"Oh,  what  are  you  giving  us,  Mate  ?  " 

But  my-lady's  mind  was  on  the  subject.  "I  don't  want 
you  to  go  there,"  she  said. 

"  Well,  I'll  go,  just  the  same,"  he  answered.  He  smiled  at 
the  idea  of  not  going  to  the  Great  Occidental  Alloy  Works. 
"  That's  too  good,"  he  declared.  "  She's  getting  to  be  a 
granny.  But  I'll  attend  to  my  own  business.  She  always 
was  strong-minded,  and  now  she's  got  her  head  turned  doc- 
toring up  Harm." 

He  entered  the  works.  The  flavors  of  all  the  metals 
greeted  his  nostrils  with  the  odor  of  500  per  cent  on  his  in- 
vestment. His  face  was  pallid  in  the  white  light  of  burning 
antimony,  but  his  money-getter's  spirit  rose  to  supernal 
heights.  "Oh  !  "  he  said,  "that  smells  like  business  !  " 

They  were  burning  out  zinc.  "  What  makes  the  fume  ?  " 
he  asked  of  the  boss. 

"We're  clearing  off  the  antimony." 

"  Did  you  ever  know  it  to  hurt  anybody  ?  " 

"  Sometimes  a  man  can't  stand  it.  But  it  about  all  goes 
up." 

The  family  physician  was  questioned  by  Mary  about  Har- 
mon's case. 

"  Do  printers  get  sick  very  often  ?  " 

"Not  down  sick,  like  your  brother.  There  are  perhaps 
500  typesetters  in  Chicago.  I  presume  Harmon  is  the  only 
one  suffering  from  acute  symptoms  of  antimouial  poisoning. 


138  DANIEL  TRENT  WORTHY. 

But  printers  are  gradually  poisoned  very  often.  A  workman 
who  ordinarily  does  not  take  enough  fresh  air  to  outweigh 
the  effects  of  the  poison  has  a  very  peculiar  diathesis.  It 
would  not  take  much  more  to  kill  him.  He  does  not,  on  the 
average,  attain  to  an  old  age." 

Mary  visited  the  works.  She  inquired  casually  which 
was  the  aniimonial  ore.  There  it  lay  in  heaps,  fresh  from 
Colorado — hard,  gr;iy  chunks,  the  rock  holding  crystals  of 
the  metal.  She  gazed  on  it  as  one  fascinated.  Where  did 
they  put  the  ore  after  smelting  it — that  ore,  for  instance  ? 
She  pointed  to  the  antimony. 

The  boss  showed  the  pigs  of  lead-looking  metal. 

"  Oh  ! "  she  exclaimed  ;  she  supposed  that  the  alloymakers 
used  a  sort  of  powder  or  butter  of  antimony. 

No,  the  pigs  were  what  they  used.  Again,  they  might 
not  have  any  antimony  by  itself  for  months. 

"I  am  so  afraid  of  my  husband  losing  his  health  here," 
she  said  to  the  boss.  "Remember,  if  ever  anything  should 
happen  to  him  I  should  never  forgive  you  people  who  got 
him  interested  in  these  works." 

"I  never  heard  of  but  one  bad  case,  ma'am,"  said  the  boss. 
"I  knew  a  man  who  got  it  so  bad  that  nothing  ever  saved 
him.  •«  He  was  sick  a  year." 

"  Smart  wife,  Errington's,"  the  boss  said  to  a  helper. 

"  It  is  very  strange,"  she  muttered  as  she  went  homeward, 
"  that  a  type-setter  should  get  sick  and  a  smelter  should 
escape.  The  doctor  says  it's  all  a  matter  of  diathesis.  I 
will  study  that  word." 

"Mary,"  Daniel  said  one  Sunday  in  September,  "I  guess 
you  had  better  have  one  of  these  men  about  the  house  go  over 
to  the  mission  with  you.  Ralph  has  some  enemies  over 
there  who  will  take  advantage  of  anything  to  hurt  him  or 
you.  I  would  not  like  to  hear  you  talked  about." 

She  was  deprived  of  her  only  right.  What  did  she  care  if 
all  DeKoven  and  Jefferson  and  Taylor  streets  talked  and 
wagged  their  tongues  ? 


DIATHESIS.  139 

Of  course,  Daniel,  I  will  do  whatever  you  think  best." 

"Well,  I  was  uneasy  all  last  winter,  and  now  Ralph  is 
going  to  have  trouble.  Hasn't  he  told  you  ?  " 

Have  trouble !  She  had  married  a  man  because  he  was 
rich,  not  because  he  was  to  have  trouble.  She  married  him 
for  better,  not  for  worse. 

"  He  has  told  me  nothing." 

The  fire  bells  rang  a  general  alarm.  The  entire  populace 
poured  southward  toward  the  bridges.  Great  clouds  of  smoke 
rolled  toward  the  zenith. 

"  There  is  a  great  fire,  Daniel.  Will  you  not  take  me  to 
it?" 

She  was  triumphant.  "  He  shall  love  me  ! "  she  said. 
She  took  his  arm  and  walked  in  the  crowd.  She  nestled 
close  to  him  with  every  surging  of  the  mass  of  anxious 
beings.  He  was  so  handsome  and  so  strong !  His  arm 
would  go  out  so  sturdily  as  the  crush  came  in  crossing  the 
bridge.  She  gloried  in  her  good  fortune.  She  was  thankful 
that  the  mission  was  out  of  the  question.  Never  before  had 
she  en  joyed  the  opportunity  of  clinging  to  him  as  her  awakened 
heart  prompted  her  to  do.  They  got  out  of  the  mass  after 
crossing  the  bridge.  She  had  always  detested  crowds.  She 
loved  this  one.  Oh  !  for  a  bridge  like  the  one  over  the  Poto- 
mac, over  the  Scottish  frith — a  never-ending  passage,  where 
people  might  push  her  and  attempt  to  trample  her,  and  where 
Daniel  should  say  :  "  I  guess  you  will  have  to  cling  tight  to 
me,  Mary!"  Then,  "  Keep  off  this  lady,  you!  Be  more 
careful  next  time  !"  with  a  lunge  that  would  send  the  clown 
forward  smartly. 

What  a  god  a  man  becomes  to  the  woman  who  hopes  to 
secure  his  love  ! 

"  I  tell  you,"  the  foreman  of  the  proof-room  had  observed 
to  Daniel,  "  these  women  that  are  hard  to  catch — that  are  slow 
to  warm  up — they'll  lick  the  right  man's  boots  !  That's  what 
they'll  do," 


140  DANIEL  TRENTWORTIIY. 

It  was  the  great  Drake  Block  that  was  on  fire.  Its  mansard 
roof — the  pride  of  the  city — was  all  aflame.  It  stood  between 
Washington  and  Madison  streets,  on  the  east  side  of  Wabash 
avenue,  and  was  even  a  more  conspicuous  building  than  Field 
&  Leiter's  new  retail  establishment. 

The  wife  and  the  private  secretary  had  reached  the  little 
plot  of  ground  called  Dearborn  square.  There,  for  hours, 
they  watched  the  slow  destruction  of  nearly  three  millions 
of  property. 

Some  of  the  citizens  asked  why  a  tinder-trap  was  allowed 
on  top  of  five  stories  of  stone  front.  But  Chicago  at 
large  was  so  smitten  with  Mansard's  contrivance  that  it 
was  said  if  Chicago  must  burn  because  of  Mansard  roofs, 
"Then  let  her  burn!" 

The  fire  was  very  deliberate.  It  was  beyond  reach,  and 
could  take  its  own  time.  It  was  a  delightful  afternoon — 
not  a  cloud  in  the  sky,  not  a  breeze  astir.  Spectators  fell  to 
discussing  their  mutual  affairs. 

"  Will  you  be  down  to-morrow,  George  ?  "  one  would  ask 
the  other. 

So  the  wife,  watching  her  opportunity,  found  it  here. 
The  young  man  was,  of  course,  interested  in  the  doings  of 
the  firemen. 

"  I  have  had  some  of  that !  "  he  said,  significantly. 

"Do  you  remember  how  we  practiced  together,  Daniel, 
in  those  days  ?  I  wish  they  would  come  again." 

"  I  was  a  ninnyhammer  in  those  days,  Mary.  I  must  have 
.caused  you  much  annoyance.  But  you  brought  good  luck  to 
both  of  us." 

He  was  thinking  of  Mercy.  He  looked  into  Mary's  eyes. 
They  were  black  now — so  he  thought.  Whatever  traits 
the  sisters  had  that  were  alike  were  here  credited  to 
Mercy's  account.  He  looked  as  though  he  were  admiring 
Mary,  but  he  was  trying  to  see  Mercy.  Mary,  the 
gray-eyed  maiden,  had  died  to  him  that  cruel  afternoon  in 


IN  LOVE.  141 

the  spider — that  afternoon  which  had  so  nearly  killed  him, 
body  and  mind — which  had  so  clearly  set  its  mark  between 
the  past  and  present,  between  continuous  disaster  and 
uninterrupted  peace. 

"  I  wonder  if  I  am  not  already  in  love  with  Mercy  past  get- 
ting out,"  he  thought  as  he  gazed -in  Mary's  face. 

It  was  the  only  happy  moment  she  had  found  since  the 
coil  of  love  had  sprung  in  her  heart.  She  dared  not  to  speak  ; 
she  dared  not  to  move.  She  hoped  he  might  gaze  on  forever. 
"The  building  will  burn  for  hours,"  she  calculated  greedil}'. 
He  still  loves  me.  I  will  have  him." 

"Let  us  go  home,"  he  said. 

Her  moment  was  over.  She  was  so  loath  to  go  that  she 
made  excuse  after  excuse.  But  Daniel  was  accusing  himself 
of  thoughtlessness  in  that  he  had  not  gone  over  for  Mercy.  He 
hoped  there  might  yet  be  time. 

"  Come  on,"  he  said,  "  let  us  hurry.  Here  is  a  car.  No, 
I  cannot  walk.  I  have  an  important  engagement." 

The  wife,  balked,  was  yet  happy  beyond  her  hopes.  "  He 
is  so  upright  that  though  I  saw  his  love,  I  could  not  move/' 
she  said,  and  then  she  set  her  gray  face. 

There  was  but  one  person  in  her  way.  Ralph  Errington 
was  where  he  might  be  poisoned  with  antimony. 


CHAPPEK  XVII. 

JX  LOVE. 


THE  fall  and  winter  of  1870-71  passed.  Daniel  Trent- 
worthy  had  $5,000  of  his  own  money.  He  bought  a  hand- 
some little  brick  house  and  lot  on  West  Washington  street, 


142  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

which  then  was  enjoying  the  prosperity  that  always  follows 
the  paving  of  a  street  in  a  town  that  is  below  grade. 

The  chief  owner  of  the  alloy  works  was  on  hand  night  and 
day.  The  output  of  the  metals  that  enter  into  commercial 
use  was  immense.  His  face  assumed  a  transparent  look. 
He  lost  interest  in  everything  save  the  furnaces. 

His  wife  protested  with  increasing  urgency  that  he  was 
killing  himself. 

"  Pshaw !  "  he  said,  "  I  will  outlive  Harmon.  See  how 
hard  it  is  to  kill  him  !  He  gets  $5  a  day.  I  get  a  thousand 
— some  days." 

In  February  there  came  a  warm,  damp  air,  and  smoke  fell 
to  the  ground.  The  Alderman  came  to  his  home  at  night 
with  a  brassy  taste  in  his  mouth.  "  I  must  get  a  gold  spoon," 
he  said.  "  Silver  tastes  bitter  to  me  nowadays.  One  evening 
late  in  the  month  he  could  eat  little  supper.  He  had 
severe  palpitation  of  the  heart.  Further  on  he  was  seized 
with  violent  illness.  There  was  a  great  uproar  at  the  house. 
Doctors  came  in  the  greatest  haste. 

"It  is  the  smelting  works !  "  the  wife  said. 

"  It  is  cholera  morbus,"  the  doctors  said.  One  doctor 
thought  it  might  be  sporadic  cholera.  "  There  are  cramps," 
he  said.  "  It  is  the  diathesis  of  a  cholera  patient." 

The  wife  was  not  satisfied.  She  must  have  the  best  advice. 
The  greatest  man  in  the  city  came  as  a  special  favor  at  his 
own  fee.  The  wife  gave  him  her  reasons  for  believing  it 
might  be  mercury  or  antimony  in  his  system. 

"It  is  antimony,"  the  great  man  said.  "He  will  not  die, 
or  he  would  already  be  dead."  They  gave  the  patient  quinine 
and  opium  and  applied  leeches  to  his  throat  and  stomach. 

It  was  a  fearful  attack.  Ralph  Errington  issued  from  it, 
in  appearance,  a  decrepit  old  man. 

"  Keep  away  from  the  smelting  works  !  "  cried  the  doctors. 
The  great  specialist  was  gone  now. 

But  how  could  a  poor  dollar-getter,  to  whom  time  was 


IN  LOVE.  143 

money,  and  money  was  power — how  could  he  stay  away  from 
his  gold  mine  ?  As  well  try  to  keep  a  miser  from  counting 
his  treasure.  He  haunted  the  works  and  everybody  declared 
he  was  a  wretched  fool. 

"  It  makes  me  sick,"  said  the  boss,  to  see  a  man  who  will 
not  take  a  lesson  when  experience  teaches  it.  He  comes 
around  here  like  a  ghost,  and  it  hurts  the  business,  because  it 
scares  our  men.  Now,  Errington's  one  man  in  five  hundred. 
He's  the  second  man  of  the  kind  I  never  heard  of,  or  heard 
tell  of,  and  he'd  die  rather  than  give  up  that  he  can't  stand 
the  dust  and  fumes." 

It  was  not  alone  the  antimony  that  was  breaking  the 
successful  Chicagoan.  The  way  of  the  transgressor  is  hard. 
He  was  out  of  politics,  and  the  new  Council  was  not  willing 
to  dicker  with  the  sub-aqueous  corporation.  The  agent 
indignantly  referred  to  previous  Councils  and  produced  his 
proofs.  The  summer  of  1871  opened  with  rumors  of  corrup- 
tion at  some  time  within  the  statutory  limitations,  and  a  grand 
jury  was  asked  to  look  the  matter  up.  Errington  had  paid  a 
great  price  for  his  respectability.  He  had  a  high  regard  for 
all  the  people  with  whom  he  had  gained  a  good  social  stand- 
ing through  his  wife's  folks.  He  could  not  bear  exposure, 
and  so  cast  himself  on  Daniel's  advice. 

Daniel  talked  to  Mercy  about  it.  The  pretty  girl  lived  on 
in  hope.  Her  patient  of  the  long  ago  was  still  her  brother. 
It  was  such  an  age,  she  thought,  and  yet  it  was  only  a  year 
and  a  half — scarcely  longer  than  a  heart  stays  hurt.  Both 
Daniel  and  Mercy  were  attached  to  Errington.  They  could 
not  bear  to  see  him  ruined.  And  with  his  approaching 
troubles  came  these  awful  attacks  of  illness. 

How  did  the  gray-eyed  wife  bear  up  under  all  this  load  of 
trouble  ?  Not  only  did  she  have  her  own  husband  in  charge, 
but  she  nursed  Harmon,  whose  case  grew  equally  serious, 
though  less  acute  in  form.  He  had  come  to  Ohio  street.  She 
alone  could  administer  relief.  When  doctors  had  failed  to 


144  DANIEL  TRENTWORTIIT. 

quiet  the  suffering  of  either  or  both  her  patients,  some  gall, 
or  tea,  or  application  would  save  the  suffering  one.  Belief  in 
her  skill  was  growing. 

"  I  have  been  repaid  a  thousand  times  for  my  studies." 
she  would  say. 

Mary  had  married  for  a  trip  in  Europe  and  a  house  where 
great  parties  might  be  given.  Her  poor  old  mother  lamented 
the  distance  now,  as  she  came  on  her  visits  of  mercy. 

"  Never  a  party  has  she  had,"  the  mother  would  murmur. 
And  then  she  would  look  at  the  faces  of  the  two  sick  men 
and  grow  uneasy  beyond  expression. 

"  I  think  they  are  getting  better,  mother,"  the  gray-eyed 
woman  would  say. 

She  would  have  given  her  mansion  if  Harmon's  case  would 
have  yielded  to  her  remedies. 

"  I  am  afraid  they  will  both  die,"  the  stricken  mother 
would  lament.  What  were  her  hop-bags  nowj  and  all  her 
simples,  when  leeches  and  the  strongest  drugs  were  the  only 
remedies  to  which  the  sick  ones  would  respond. 

"  Isn't  the  Christian's  case  a  strange  one  ?  "  the  printers 
would  say.  "  And  he  has  a  brother-in-law  down  the  same 
way." 

"Yes,  but  it's  Errington,  who  got  up  the  smelting  works. 
They  make  the  Babbitt  metal  there,  and  type  metal,  and  all 
that." 

It  was  poison.  Poison  is  partially  defined  as  a  substance 
which,  in  passing  through  the  tissues  of  the  body,  sets  up 
inflammation.  Inflammation  of  the  alimentary  canal,  when 
acute,  attacks  the  life  savagely,  as  it  were  a  case  of  cholera. 
Then,  if  the  patient  withstand  these  attacks  he  must  subsist 
on  a  small  allowance  of  the  fuel  which  is  furnished  from  the 
capillaries  that  suck  from  the  alimentary  canal.  With  the 
entire  passage  in  a  heated  state  the  patient  will  grow  weak 
from  lack  of  blood,  and  the  administration  of  invigorants  will 
only  arouse  the  dormant  inflammation.  Through  a  consti- 


IN  LOVE.  145 

tution  predisposed  to  "  lead  colic,"  and  through  twenty  years 
absorption  of  metallic  dust,  Harmon  Holbroke,  the  Christian, 
was  now  hopelessly  ill. 

Mary  Errington  bent  every  energy  to  his  care.  "If  he 
only  had  a  constitution,"  she  would  reason,  "  I  could  restore 
him." 

But  the  Christian  had  no  constitution.  Year  after  year 
he  had  gone  five  nights  a  week  to  that  typesetter's  room, 
where  the  floor  had  not  been  washed  since  1848;  where 
layers  of  dirt,  chiefly  tobacco,  were  four  inches  deep  around 
the  posts  of  the  case-racks ;  where  the  thermometer,  burning 
at  110  of  a  hot  summer  night,  under  a  hundred  gas  jets, 
drove  men  to  strip  almost  naked  that  the  people  might  have 
the  latest  news  of  battle  or  reconstruction.  There  he  had 
dug  his  wan  fingers  into  a  ball  of  pink  chalk  designed  for  a 
lady's  face,  and  striven  to  handle  the  turtle  type  that  stuck 
together  with  ink  as  though  they  were  magnetic.  A  horrible 
air  !  A  place  filled  with  experiences  that  affright  the  new- 
comer. There — that  his  mother  might  not  want,  that  Mercy 
might  stay  East,  that  Mary  might  graduate  from  High 
School — had  the  Christian  toiled. 

There  are  many  unknown  heroes. 

"The  Christian  doesn't  drink,"  the  foreman  had  said, 
"but  he  means  all  right,  just  the  same.  He's  a  mighty  sight 
better  to  his  family  than  some  of  our  fastest  men  who  drink 
the  most  with  the  boys." 

A  "fast"  workman  was  highly  considered  on  a  morning 
paper  in  those  days — especially  if  he  drank  well. 

"  I  don't  know  but  you  were  right,  Mary,"  the  sick  brother 
said  one  day.  "  You  can  take  care  of  mother  and  Mercy, 
You  know  I  opposed  your  marriage  at  first.  But  money  is 
a  useful  thing  when  one  loses  health." 

It  maddened  the  gray  woman  to  think  that  the  brother  to 
whom  she  owed  so  much  should  sink  so  steadily. 

And  when  Daniel  would  come  into  that  house  of  misery, 
10 


146  DANIEL  TRENTWORT11Y. 

where  the  superstitious  servants  held  council  every  night 
whether  or  not  the  curse  would  fall  on  all,  Mary  would  meet 
him  with  such  tenderness  that  the  young  man  pitied  her 
from  his  heart. 

"  Mary  has  a  deep  nature,"  he  said  to  Mercy.  "  She  is 
greatly  improved  by  her  misfortunes." 

The  pretty  sister  was  over  at  Ohio  street  early  that  morn- 
ing. "Ah  !  I'm  glad  you've  come,"  cried  Daniel.  "I  can 
take  you  to  see  the  German  procession." 

Mercy  was  happy,  and  the  gray  woman  saw  it.  She  inter- 
posed no  remark.  There  was  none  to  be  made.  The  unmar- 
ried sister  had  been  much  neglected  of  late.  For  a  year  she 
had  been  a  recluse.  For  a  month  she  had  often  been  alone 
in  the  Clinton  street  house. 

What  seasons  of  dry  ness  fall  upon  our  lives-!  There  are 
times  when  the  dust  blows  upon  our  souls,  month  after  month. 
There  are  seasons  when  every  friend  loses  interest  iiius,  when, 
every  once  pleasing  memory  grows  stale  and  unprofitable. 

Poor  Mercy,  on  that  unpaved  street,  with  trouble  falling 
thick  upon  her  family,  with  her  noble  brother  no  longer  stand- 
ing as  a  pillar  of  support,  with  the  young  man  she  loved 
making  no  sign,  but  taking  all  for  granted  that  she  could 
forever  be  his  sister  and  not  cry  out,  the  strain  that  was  on 
her  heart — poor  Mercy,  it  was  a  season  of  unquenchable 
thirst,  of  weariness  without  sleep,  of  falling  eyelids  without 
rest  for  the  eye. 

In  this  Sahara  of  the  spirit  rose  up  this  little  oasis  of  the 
Gerrrtan  celebration.  She  went  with  Daniel.  And  she  was 
happy.  And  Daniel  was  happy. 

The  Germans  had  "  sent  ten  thousand  Frenchmen  down 
below — praise  God,  from  whom  all  blessings  flow  " — such  was 
the  bitter  jest  of  the  time,  for  the  times  were  bloody  with 
civil  war  here  and  Commune  there.  The  Kaiser  had  put  on 
the  imperial  crown  in  a  French  palace.  But  the  great 
Kaiser  and  his  greater  chancellor  did  not  feel  prouder  than 


IN  LOVE.  147 

Daniel  as  he  left  Mary's  house  with  Mercy  in  his  care  for  the 
day. 

She  looked  into  his  handsome  face  and  recalled  the  hour 
he  had  been  hers — hers  to  fondle  and  kiss.  And  then  she 
thought  of  the  statue. 

"  Did  you  know  that  man  ?  "  Daniel  asked. 

"  No,  I  never  saw  him." 

"  You  turned  almost  scarlet." 

"  Did  I  ?  "  and  she  was  already  pale  with  fear.  Oh !  she 
was  a  guilty  piece  !  She  pitied  poor  Errington. 

"  He  never  was  as  bad  as  I ! "  she  confessed  ruefully  to 
herself. 

Daniel  gazed  at  her,  full  of  admiration.  He  stepped  high. 
He  cast  a  menacing  eye  at  all  men  who  looked  too  long  at 
the  beauty  by  his  side.  He  thought  that  she  might  have 
known  that  even  passers-by  disturbed  him.  He  was  head 
over  heels  in  love  once  more.  And  when  he  announced  the 
fact  to  himself  he  was  not  filled  with  consternation,  as  he 
thought  he  should  have  been. 

They  were  still  standing  at  the  iron  gateway  on  Ohio 
street.  The  promenaders  were  passing.  It  was  a  holiday, 
and  the  North  Side  was  the  centre  of  the  festivities. 

"  I  think  we  had  better  go  on  down  to  Wabash  avenue,"  he 
said,  for  he  wanted  to  walk  with  her. 

"I  have  a  house,"  he  thought,  with  a  strange  exaltation. 
"  I  could  keep  her.  I  wonder  if  she  will  ever  forget  what  a 
fool  I  made  of  myself  over  Mary  ?  "  . 

He  looked  in  Mercy's  face.  There  was  no  hope.  The 
maiden  considered  that  she  had  been  much  wickeder  than  her 
brother-in-law.  She  was  doing  penance  with  prudery. 

It  was  too  late.  He  dared  not  give  her  a  sign  of  his 
thoughts. 

The  gray  woman  stood  at  the  open  window  above  the  stair- 
case. Her  heart  had  hardened  anew  that  morning,  as  she 
saw  Harmon  sinking  in  strength. 


148  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

Her  heart  was  stony  now,  as  she  saw  these  young  unmarried 
people  depart.  She  turned  to  her  duties.  She  shrank  not. 
She  had  two  patients  to  nurse,  who,  everybody  knew,  were 
suffering  from  mineral  poisons,  gradually  absorbed  into  their, 
systems. 

"  Bad  cases  !  "  said  the  doctors. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

SOMETHING    ON    DANIEI/S    MIND. 

WHY  does  a  man  fall  in  love  ?  Undoubtedly  it  is  a  pro- 
vision of  nature,  at  times  even  more  arbitrary  ^han  the  in- 
stinct of  self-preservation. 

Why  had  not  Mary  fallen  in  love  with  Daniel  while  the 
influence  operated  on  her  ?  Not  because  she  had  not  felt 
that  influence,  but  because  another  and  transient  desire  was 
just  then  paramount. 

Darwin  speaks  of  the  dilemma  of  a  migratory  bird,  forced 
to  choose  between  the  desire  to  fly  away,  and  the  desire  to 
stay  with  her  fledglings.  The  time  come,  the  mother-bird 
finds  that  the  impulse  to  fly  is  uncontrollable,  and  succumbs 
to  it.  Arrived  in  Africa  or  South  America,  she  is  no  longer 
the  slave  of  that  instinct.  Then  her  mother-love  again  holds 
sway,  and  she  may  die  of  lonesomeness,  while  the  fledglings 
may  die  of  neglect.  I  am  not  arguing  that  the  hypothesis  is 
based  on  possibilities.  Darwin  must  do  his  own  arguing. 
But  it  suits  for  my  figure.  Mary,  flown  to  Ohio  street, 
wanted  Europe  and  society  no  more.  She  wanted  Daniel. 
She  could  not,  or  would  not — there  is  no  difference — live 
without  him.  Pitiable  victim  of  such  omnipotent  desires  ! 

Again,  why  does  a  man  fall  in  love  ?     Why  are"  the  eyes 


SOMETHING  ON  DANIEL'S  MIND.  149 

hoodwinked  until  ugliness  becomes  perfection — until  Bottom 
becomes  king  of  the  forest  ?  Possibly  it  is  a  relic  of  bar- 
barism. Possibly  nature  meant  that  when  a  man  fell  in  love 
he  was  to  fight  and  win,  or  to  die  and  rid  the  race  of  his  bad 
prowess.  Possibly  Daniel's  desire  to  seize  Mary  was  correct 
in  natural  law,  and,  in  general  operation,  would  improve  our 
breed  of  man,  which  is  running  desperately  low.  But  civil- 
ization interfering — the  maiden  being  secure  from  her  true 
lover's  chase — in  what  an  unnatural  plight  does  the  disprized 
lover  suddenly  find  himself !  His  suicide  often  promptly  at- 
tests this.  Perhaps  his  death  would  have  resulted  as  often 
under  the  old  tribal  regime,  when  men  fought  for  their 
women.  But  at  the  least,  does  it  not  affirm  the  solemnity  of 
love  ?  Will  men  and  women  ever  stop  reading  love  tales ; 
will  he  or  she  who  may  be  at  any  time  the  victim  of  despotic, 
of  mystic  natural  forces — will  he  or  she  refuse  the  study  of 
the  strongest  emotions  we  have?  Hardly. 

And  what  has  civilization  done  for  man,  after  balking  his 
prowess  and  dwarfing  his  breed  ?  It  has  left  him  to  the 
snares  of  self-destruction.  Yet,  if  he  escape  them,  he  may 
outlast  the  film  which  nature  put  on  his  e}rebal]s,  and  may 
see  clearly  once  more.  It  is  the  very  persistence  of  love ! 
For  were  a  proud  man's  idol  married,  as  Mary  was,  he  could 
only  worship  her  from  afar,  even  if  the  chicken's  lid  still  lay 
on  his  eye.  But  that  veil  drops  off.  Some  day  he  looks  at 
his  whilom  mistress,  and  lo !  she  is  only  a  woman.  She 
must  be  compared  with  other  women,  a  harsh  thing  to  do, 
any  woman  will  admit !  So,  then,  escaped  from  bottomless 
terrors,  the  man's  selfishness  has  play.  He  is  undoubtedly 
hard  to  shoot  with  Love's  second  dart.  The  prettiest  woman 
in  Christendom  may  smile  on  him  and  seek  to  enmesh  him 
with  her  queenly  favors.  He  will  not  put  himself  upon  her 
attention.  He  has  no  lordly  conceit.  He  is  for  a  given  time 
a  drone  in  the  hive  of  generating  life.  He  has  not  entirely 
lost  faith  in  the  desirableness  of  women  to  men,  but  he  has 


150  DANIEL  TEENTWOETHT. 

gotten  the  idea  that  he  cannot  have  the  woman  he  may  want, 
and  no  amount  of  sweet  insinuation,  no  amount  of  gentle 
favor,  from  the  queenliest  and  best  will  arouse  him  from  this 
torpor.  But,  if  the  queen  be  patient  with  her  poor  subject, 
the  time  will  come  when  Nature  will  move  him  once  more, 
be  he  ever  so  stubborn.  The  veil  will  fall  upon  his  eyes 
once  more,  and  he  will  look  around  for  the  peer  of  her  whom 
he  lost  through  the  conventions  of  civilization. 

To  such  a  second  stage  was  Daniel  come.  And  Mercy  had 
been  true,  and  had  grown  even  more  beautiful,  for  since  the 
German  procession  she  had  hope.  But  your  lover  with  his 
second  veil  is  a  wise  animal.  There  be  silver  foxes  you  can- 
not entrap.  He  is  a  silver  fox.  Though  it  take  him  years, 
the  second  maid  shall  never  know  he  loves  her  until  she  first 
makes  bare  her  heart.  Thus  the  proud  beauty,  scorning  the 
prayers  of  all  her  lovers,  must  make  love  to  Daniel,  or  lose 
him.  It  is  a  hard  thing  for  a  maid  to  do.  She  doubts  if  she 
has  retained  her  innocence  and  purity.  What  would  her 
mother  say  ? 

With  the  inconsistency  of  common  sense,  the  hard-headed 
mother  would  say  it  all  depended  on  whom  the  man  might  be. 

This  was  Mercy's  situation  during  those  dry  months  in 
the  late  summer  of  1871,  when  Daniel  and  Mercy,  in  going 
and  coming  from  the  Clinton  street  house,  were  together 
much  of  the  time. 

Daniel  was  certainly  cold  in  his  outward  bearing  toward 
Mercy.  The  gray  woman  of  sorrows  looked  at  him  and  said 
that,  whether  or  not  Mercy  would  marry  him  if  she  could, 
he  did  not  love  Mercy.  Love  was  eternal.  She,  the  gray 
woman,  was  winning.  The  gloom  that  grew  over  everything 
affected  her  not.  Her  mind  was  on  a  great  project.  She  was 
not  one  to  fail. 

The  patients  were  both  sinking  rapidly.  The  family  were 
all  at  the  Ohio  street  house  every  day.  The  doctors  said  a 
damper  air  would  aid  in  giving  the  sick  men  strength,  and 


SOMETHING  ON  DANIEL'S  MIND.  151 

fell  back  on  the  unparalleled  drought  as  a  cause  for  the  non- 
efficacy  of  their  medicines.  Grass  and  foliage  were  badly 
burned.  A  shrub,  watered  properly  from  a  hydrant,  would 
give  off  its  moisture  within  an  hour  to  the  fevered  atmos- 
phere, and  be  seemingly  dryer  than  when  watered.  There 
often  comes  upon  Chicago  a  straight  south  wind  which  blows 
with  peculiar  steadiness,  night  and  day.  The  true  south 
wind  sucks  moisture  like  a  sponge.  All  through  this  mem- 
orable summer  there  had  been  protracted  seasons  of  south 
wind.  The  spring  and  early  summer  had  been  very  dry.  A 
good  rain  fell  the  3d  of  July,  and  people  felt  that  the  back- 
bone of  the  droiight  was  broken.  But  this  was  only  the 
beginning  of  the  parching  which  the  city  endured.  Starting 
in  dry  where  ordinarily  it  is  wet,  the  dog-days  passed  with- 
out rain,  as  they  often  do,  but  the  equinoctial  brought  no 
clouds.  The  gales  came,  truly  enough,  but  they  were  thirsty 
themselves.  The  shingles  of  wooden  houses  lolled  like  mas- 
tiff's tongues.  Two  and  one-half  inches  of  rain  was  all  the 
drink  that  Mature  gave  the  region  from  July  3  to  October  9. 
The  equinoctial  gale  came  barren  as  Sara  before  Abraham 
was  promised  seed.  It  was  difficult  to  stand  up  in  the 
streets.  The  wind  blew  in  all  directions.  The  passage  of  a 
main  current  through  a  street  would  be  so  rapid  that  the 
wind  would  rush  in  from  all  cross-streets,  as  fences  and  sheds 
are  sucked  towards  a  tornado. 

On  Friday,  the  6th  of  October,  1871,  Daniel  left  the  house 
at  Ohio  street  at  noon.  The  patients  were  both  very  low, 
but  as  the}'  had  been  sick  so  long,  it  was  thought  they  would 
eventually  overcome  the  disease.  Mary  was  sure  Harmon 
would  be  out  soon.  She  almost  clung  to  Daniel  as  she  ac- 
companied him  to  the  door.  To  touch  him  was  all  she  lived 
for  now. 

"  How  the  wind  blows  !  "  she  shivered  as  she  opened  the 
door  but  an  inch.  "  Oh  !  Daniel !  stay  in  this  afternoon,  and 
help  me  !  I  am  so  weary — so  weary  !  " 


152  DANIEL  TRENTIVORTHY. 

She  looked  for  pity  in  liis  face.  He  was  profoundly  sorry 
for  her. 

"  Mary,"  he  said,  and  tears  rose  in  his  eyes,  "  I  once 
thought  you  were  heartless.  Forgive  me  !  will  you  ?  I  am 
sorry  I  wronged  you." 

"  I  forgive  you  freely,"  she  answered,  and  restrained  her- 
self from  throwing  her  arms  about  his  neck.  She  was  cer- 
tain he  loved  her,  and  that  her  fears  were  as  nought  in  fact. 

"  Stay  with  me,  Daniel,"  she  pleaded. 

" No,  Mary,"  he  replied.  "I  know  your  load  is  heavy. 
But  so  is  mine.  I  have  been  at  work  night  and  day  to  save 
the  honor  of  this  house.  I  now  have  an  engagement  that 
must  not  be  broken." 

She  shivered.  He  went  out,  and  a  gust  swept  through  the 
house.  The  light,  hard  cough  of  her  gentle  brother  answered 
to  the  draught. 

It  was  a  day  as  cold  and  ugly  as  ever  was  seen'  in  Chicago's 
Octobers.  The  streets  were  clean,  as  the  dust  was  all  in  the 
air.  Daniel's  appointment  was  at  the  Palmer  House,  on 
State  street,  at  the  northwest  corner  of  Quincy  street,  and, 
though  he  rode  to  the  Clark  street  bridge,  his  walk  to  the 
hotel  covered  and  filled  him  with  dirt  and  sand.  The  wind 
howled  so  one's  voice  could  not  be  heard  on  the  street.  The 
man  had  not  arrived  at  the  hotel,  and,  as  this  was  not  strange 
under  the  circumstances,  Daniel  took  advantage  of  a  bath  to 
"bring  himself  back  to  life,"  as  he  thought,  for  he  was  very 
cold  and  much  exlwisted.  The  Palmer  House  was  the  nar- 
rowest structure  for  its  height  that  had  been  built  in  the 
city.  Two  sides  of  it  were  on  iron  pillars,  and  yet  it  was 
eight  stories  high,  the  three  upper  floors  being  in  a  hand- 
some wooden  mansard  roof.  This  hotel  was  the  pride  of  the 
city.  Daniel,  fresh  from  the  bath,  lounged  in  its  magnificent 
waiting-rooms,  and  was  in  excellent  condition  to  treat  with 
the  ex-disbursing  agent  of  the  Sub- Aqueous  Company. 

This  worthy  had  not  thriven  since  the  days  of  the 


SOMETHING  ON  DANIEL'S  MIND.  153 

fornia  pears.  Some  of  the  eighteen  Aldermen  had  "  leaked." 
He  had  thus  gotten  a  bad  name.  His  "corner"  on  the  Board 
of  Trade  had  collapsed,  and  now  the  Citizens'  Committee  was 
hot  on  his  track  to  make  him  give  the  particulars  of  his 
Aldermanic  adventures  to  the  grand  jury,  which  was  to  meet 
the  next  Monday. 

"  If  you  do  not,"  they  threatened,  "  we  have  enough  on 
you,  old  man,  to  send  you  down." 

These  things  he  was  to  relate  to  Daniel.  He  lived  in  one 
of  Errington's  little  houses  on  Jackson  street,  between  Canal 
and  Clinton. 

"Now,  I  ought  to  git  out  of  this  city  as  fast  as  I  can  git," 
he  explained,  "  but  I  want  means,  and  I  want  my  family 
safe.  If  my  wife  owned  the  house,  she  could  do  enough 
dressmaking  to  get  along." 

"  When  can  you  start  ?  "  asked  Daniel. 

"  To-morrow  is  Saturday.  I'll  go  to-morrow  night  if  you'll 
fix  this.  Remember,  I'm  sorry  for  Errington.  I  know  he's 
lost  his  health,  and  I  guess  they'll  all  try  to  bleed  him.  But 
you  see  where  the  prosecution  will  have  me  if  I  stay." 

Society  is  organized  of  law-abiding  citizens,  who  punish 
law-breakers.  Each  of  these  citizens  wants  every  law-breaker 
punished,  except  it  be  a  friend  or  relative.  Daniel  wished  all 
bribe-takers  might  suffer  the  penalty  of  their  crimes,  but  he 
was  willing  to  go  a  good  way  to  save  the  husband  of  that 
sad-faced  woman  he  had  once  loved.  Errington  was  his 
patron.  It  would  be  perfidious  and  ungrateful  not  to  at- 
tempt to  keep  him  out  of  the  toils. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  the  brother  who  abandons  the 
wretch  who  has  been  grasped  within  the  hand  of  the  law  is 
not  considered  so  good  a  citizen  as  he  who  goes  to  the  end  of 
fraternal  affection  in  opposing  the  procedure  of  justice. 

Equal  and  exact  justice  always  punishes  somebody  else's 
brother.  When  it  comes  near  one's  home  it  is  Juggernaut. 

It  was  the  opinion  of  J)aniel  that  the  affair  of  fche  Oali- 


154  DANIEL  TRENTWORTI1Y. 

fornia  pears  was  the  only  operation  in  which  Errington 
could  be  cornered.  If  Errington  could  show  a  sale  of  prop- 
erty from  the  agent  to  him,  then  he  could  show  that  the 
money  the  squealing  boodlers  saw  him  take  was  due  him  on 
the  property.  Daniel  proceeded  to  arrange  the  matter.  The 
ex-agent  was  to  take  the  property  on  a  sale  ante-dated.  The 
agent  was  to  get  out  of  town,  and  Daniel  was  to  furnish  the 
money.  He  quieted  the  alarm  of  tin  agent,  spent  the  after- 
noon in  his  company,  and  returned  to  Ohio  street  for  supper. 

The  servants  whispered  together  and  looked  at  Daniel  as 
he  ate.  The  wind  whistled  and  howled,  and  the  coke  fires 
in  the  grates  roared  and  crackled  merrily.  The  cook  kept 
everything  locked  closely.  Two  or  three  people  watched  him 
prepare  the  food. 

"  There's  been  so  much  poison  around,  and  antidotes/'  the 
second  girls  said  apologetically,  "  that  we  has  to  be  very 
careful." 

"It  is  strange  how  servants  will  fall  into  a- panic  !  "  Dan- 
iel thought,  as  he  and  Mercy  ate  a  hurried  repast,  each 
desiring  to  be  upstairs  with  the  patients,  who  were  reported 
to  be  worse. 

The  blast  tugged  and  pounded  on  the  mansion.  A  brick 
fell  from  a  chimney  with  a  crash.  The  three  servants  who 
had  been  in  a  group  set  up  a  scream. 

"  If  I  were  Mary,  I  would  dismiss  every  man  and  woman 
in  this  house  !  "  he  muttered. 

He  took  Mercy's  arm  and  led  her  up  the  grand  staircase. 
"  Mercy,"  he  asked,  "  how  long  have  the  servants  carried  on 
this  way  ?  " 

"I've  noticed  it  for  weeks.  But  since  this  fearful  windstorm 
came  up —  it's  a  week,  isn't  it  ?  it  seems  so — they  have  been 
much  worse.  I  suppose  it's  because  Ralph  and  Mary  are  both 
away  from  table  so  much." 

"  Those  dining-room  girls  looked  at  you  and  me  very 
strangely." 


THE  COMING  EVENT.  155 

Mercy  blushed,  but  Daniel  did  not  blush. 

The  girl  was  uneasy.  She  turned  and  entered  Harmon's 
chamber. 

Now,  what  thing  was  in  Daniel's  mind  so  weighty  that  he 
could  not  see  sweet  Mercy's  blush  ? 

His  face  grew  livid,  and  he  entered  the  chamber  of  the 
gray  woman's  husband.  She  was  watching — silently,  pa- 
tiently. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE    COMING   EVENT. 

As  Daniel  entered  the  sick-chamber,  the  wife  was  giving 
her  husband  his  evening's  potions.  He  soon  grew  worse. 

"  Oh  !  Marjr,"  cried  the  young  man,  "it's  the  medicine 
that  hurts  him.  Can't  they  do  something  besides  give  him 
pain  ?  " 

It  was  hard  for  Daniel  to  see  his  unfortunate  patron  in 
such  a  plight. 

She  worked  cheerfully,  like  a  trained  nurse.  Too  much 
sympathy  would  only  deplete  her  resources,  and  she  needed  all 
her  endurance. 

"  He  takes  his  opium  now,"  she  said,  mixing  the  draught, 
"  and  that  removes  all  the  serious  effects  of  the  emulsions." 

The  patient,  relying  entirely  on  her,  obeyed  her  every 
notion.  His  strange  face — strange  at  best — fair,  frightened, 
a  look  coming  largely  from  red  eyelashes  and  gray  hair, 
once  red,  which  could  not  be  parted,  gave  forth  to  Daniel  the 
idea  of  a  man  hunted.  Hitherto,  Daniel  had  ascribed  this 
look  to  the  fear  of  approaching  prosecution,  while  the  ex- 
Alderman  lay  utterly  unable  to  use  his  great  wits  in  "  fix- 
ing things."  But,  now  that  Daniel  came  to  turn  over 


156  DANIEL  TRENT  WORTHY. 

another  idea,  he  was  astonished  to  see  that  the  look  of  the 
hunted  animal  came  to  Errington  out  of  his  desire  to  shake 
off  the  poison  that  he  felt  was  in  him.  "  It  is  awful  stuff, 
Dan,"  he  moaned.  "  I  can  feel  it  whenever  it  takes  hold." 

"  Oh,  no,  you  cannot,  dear,"  smiled  Mary. 

''She  thinks  I  can't,  but  I  can,"  he  said.  "The  moment  I 
take  the  medicine  it  seems  to  fight  the  poison,  and  I  reckon 
I'll  die  yet  while  they  are  fighting  together." 

Daniel's  teeth  chattered.  He  tried  to  cheer  the  ex-Alder- 
man by  telling  of  the  deal  he  had  made  over  on  Jackson 
street.  It  was  a  good  idea,  Errington  admitted,  but  it  would 
look  scaly  at  the  Recorder's  office,  if  the  grand  jury  ever 
went  that  far.  "  Men  like  me,"  he  said,  "  don't  hold  out  a 
deed  two  years.  But  it's  precious  little  real  estate  I've  held, 
after  all."  It  cheered  him,  on  the  whole,  and  took  his  mind 
from  the  antimony. 

Daniel  went  into  Harmon's  room.  The  gentle  Christian 
could  barely  smile. 

"  Does  he  take  much  medicine  ?  "  Daniel  asked  of  Mercy. 

"  Very  little." 

"  Does  he  have  acute  attacks  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  no.  He's  beyond  that,"  she  whispered. 

"Did  Mary  give  him  drinks  of  opiates  ?" 

"No,  not  that  I  ever  saw.  The  doctors  have  all  the  time 
given  Ralph  far  more  medicine,  and  worse  doses,  I  guess, 
than  Harmon  has  had  to  take." 

"  Does  Mary  watch  Harmon  as  closely  as  she  watches 
Ralph?" 

"  Oh  !  yes,  indeed.  She  cries  over  brother  a  great  deal." 
Mercy  was  herself  weeping. 

Daniel  returned  to  the  husband's  chamber.  The  patient 
was  in  a  stupor.  The  gray  woman  stepped  forward  and 
grasped  Daniel's  hands.  "  Oh  !  Daniel,  it's  such  a  comfort 
to  me  to  have  you  here." 

But  as  Daniel  looked  at  her  in  the  new  light,  he  grew  pale 


THE  COMING  EVENT.  157 

with  fear.  The  baleful  surmise  that  had  come  upon  him  would 
not  away. 

"  You  have  been  very  cruel  to  me,"  she  cooed,  "  far  more 
thoughtless  than  I  ever  was  with  you." 

"  I  have  tried  to  aid  you  all  I  could,  but  it  is  only  within 
a  week  that  you  would  accept  aid.  You  might  have  had  a 
dozen  skilled  nurses/'  he  answered,  but  his  teeth  chattered. 

She  would  not  be  put  off. 

"  I  have  been  very  patient.  You  said,  once,  that  you  had 
been  patient.  But  you  were  not.  It  is  I  who  was  patient — 
am  patient." 

She  thought  she  was,  but  she  was  not.  The  young  man 
turned  his  head  toward  the  couch  of  the  exhausted  sufferer. 
The  frightened  look  was  on  the  singular  face,  even  in  its 
stupor. 

The  gray  woman  looked  also.  Daniel's  brain  reeled.  He 
thought  he  saw  a  look  of  mortal  hatred  in  the  gray  eyes.  He 
thought  he  saw  the  great  cat,  opening  its  mouth,  yet  making 
no  noise,  setting  its  jaws  and  traversing  its  bars,  the  very 
apparition  of  suppressed  fury. 

He  had  for  weeks  dwelt,  as  it  were,  under  the  shadow  of 
the  penitentiary.  Its  gates  had  seemed  open  for  Errington. 
To  save  him  had  become  the  dream,  waking  and  sleeping,  of 
the  private  secretary.  Such  a  view  of  the  majesty  of  the  law 
is  valuable  to  any  poor  unit  of  society,  be  he  the  grandest  of 
citizens.  To-day  he  may  sneer :  "  I  am  the  law  !  "  To-morrow 
his  enemy  may  be  the  law.  Or,  the  next  week,  equal  and 
exact  justice  may  become  the  order  of  the  day. 

If  to  the  young  man  who  loved  the  beautiful  Mercy,  and 
who  now  dared  to  hope  she  might  yet  learn  to  love  him — if  to 
this  young  man  there  loomed  the  power  of  the  law  in  the 
ever-present  vision  of  four  walls  with  sentry  boxes,  what 
must  be  his  sensations  when  the  vision  of  the  gibbet  rose 
above  that  reddish-gray  man's  pillow. 

Emotions  of  gratitude  to  Errington  were  sufficient,  but  the 


158  DANIEL  TBENTWORTHT. 

vengeance  of  the  law  was  paramount.  The  gray  woman's 
words  were  lower  and  sweeter,  but  Daniel  heard  them  not, 

"  Mary,"  he  said,  "  I  think  he  is  worse.  I  am  going  for 
the  doctor." 

She  would  have  dissuaded  him.  His  fears  were  groundless. 
Had  not  all  the  doctors  failed,  and  had  not  she  brought  relief  ? 
So  she  interrogated  him.  But  she  smiled  and  let  him  go. 

He  sought  the  cook.  He  questioned  all  the  servants.  They 
were  panic-stricken,  but  they  attributed  the  sickness  to  a 
curse  that  had  come  on  that  house.  They  knew  nothing  and 
suspected  nothing.  And  yet  their  foolish  imaginings,  mis- 
understood by  Daniel,  had  brought  forth  the  night's  events. 
The  cook  locked  up'his  victuals  because  there  had  been  theft. 
Poisons  and  antidotes  were  his  excuse. 

Daniel's  fortitude  returned.  He  cheered  the  servants  by 
saying  he  expected  to  get  better  treatment  for  the  master. 
He  returned  upstairs.  The  house  was  cold  and  the  gale 
howled.  The  wind  was  at  the  height  of  forty  miles  an  hour. 

As  he  returned  to  that  great  staircase  his  limbs  again 
trembled  and  his  jaw  would  fall.  There  came  upon  him  a 
desire  to  enter  that  dreadful  room  once  more.  There  suc- 
ceeded a  thankful  feeling  that  Mercy  was  near.  Then,  al- 
most with  collapse,  there  appeared  the  second  thought  of  his 
dear  Mercy  and  her  continual  presence  in  that  house.  He 
thought  no  more  of  Mary's  room.  He  was  at  Mercy's  door 
without  further  sentient  feeling.  He  saw  hev  face.  He 
grasped  her  hand.  He  examined  her  face  critically.  Thank 
God  !  There  was  no  antimonial  diathesis  there  !  Harmon 
slept.  Daniel  led  the  girl  to  a  farther  corner  of  the  room. 
He  had  never  supposed  he  would  speak  his  love  to  her — not 
for  years — not  until  he  thought  she  had  learned  to  depend  on 
him — not  until  habit  had  come  to  the  aid  of  such  an  unlov- 
able lover.  But  danger  made  an  orator  of  him. 

"  Mercy,  Mercy,"  he  implored,  "  believe  in  me  ! " 

"Why,  Daniel,  what  has  happened  ?" 


TEE  COMING  EVENT.  159 

"  Believe  in  me  !  "  he  prayed.     "  Believe  in  me  !  " 

She  spoke  not  a  word.  .She  sat  in  front  of  him  and  held 
his  two  hands  in  hers,  and  then  she  kissed  his  two  hands  and 
wept.  She  was  in  fear.  She  was  a  young  girl.  The  gale 
threatened  the  exposed  house.  Death  threatened  her  dear 
ones.  That  one  who  was  dearest  of  all  talked  riddles.  She 
sobbed. 

Her  tears  brought  back  his  wits.  What  language  in  a 
woman  ever  said  as  much  as  her  grief  ? 

"Ah  !  "  he  cried,  "  you  do  love  me  !  Then  you  will  believe 
in  me.  Mercy,  we  are  all  in  danger.  The  devil  is  in  Mary's 
heart.  I  saw  it !  I  saw  it !  1  cannot  say  why  I  believe  it,  yet 
I  saw  it." 

The  girl  was  sobbing  as  she  had  been  at  a  funeral.  The 
emotions  of  the  pair  fluctuated  between  love  and  terror — 
between  deep  sorrow  and  great  happiness. 

"  Promise  me,  Mercy,  that  you  will  eat  110  more  in  this 
house.  When  you  drink,  drink  directly  from  the  hydrant, 
and  secrete  your  cup.  Do  not,  as  you  value  your  life  and 
mine,  depart  from  this." 

"  Is  it  Ralph's  enemies  who  are  going  to  kill  us  all  ?  "  she 
asked  trembling. 

"  Yes,  it  is  Ralph  Errington's  worst  enemy.  It  is  Mary. 
Forgive  me,  that  I  say  it  so  openly,  for  I  love  you  so,  Mercy, 
I  want  you  to  be  warned." 

"  She  never  did  it,  Daniel  ! "  the  girl  sobbed  loyally. 
Some  one  had  done  it,  but  it  could  not  be  Mary.  Oh !  she 
did  not  doubt  that  Ralph  was  poisoned,  but  some  one  else 
did  it.  That  is  good  woman's  logic.  It  is  the  way  God  made 
woman,  else,  having  reason  and  justice  in  her  soul,  she  could 
never  be  true  to  false  and  shifting  man. 

Yet,  when  she  thought  she  had  displeased  or  doubted 
Daniel,  she  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck.  She  remembered 
the  touch  of  his  face,  exactly  as  it  had  seemed  when  the 
statue  looked  at  her.  She  poured  her  pent-up  affection  upon 


160  DANIEL  TKENTWORTHY. 

him,  and  promised  him,  oh  !  how  faithfully,  that  she  would 
obey  him  forever,  if  he  would  only  love  her  and  be  hers,  so 
that  nobody  else  could  claim  him. 

What  man  would  not  compromise  on  such  a  basis  ?  Some- 
body else  was  poisoning  Ralph,  but  she  would  see  that 
nobody,  not  even  her  own  sister,  should  poison  her. 

Harmon  awoke,  and  their  demeanor  changed  with  the 
circumstances. 

•'•  I  will  return  and  sit  up  to-night,"  Daniel  said,  and  went 
out  into  the  gale.  He  sought  an  old  doctor  who  was  held  in 
high  esteem  in  the  Fire  Department  years  before.  Daniel 
told  him,  there  were  two  patients  at  Errington's  house  who 
were  undoubtedly  the  victims  of  antimonial  poison,  one  hav- 
ing inhaled  the  dust  of  a  type-case  and  the  other  the  fumes 
of  the  alloy  works.  Their  symptoms  were  different,  but  their 
condition  was  hopeless  at  present.  Would  not  a  change  to  a 
hospital  do  them  good  ?  The  doctor  thought  that  if  they  were 
chronic  sufferers  the  change  would  be  desirable.  Take 
the  patients  to  Mercy  Hospital,  where  treatment  could 
be  had  and  paid  for  on  any  scale  of  expense.  The  Elm  street 
hospital  would  be  nearer,  however. 

Would  not  the  doctor  go  to  Ohio  street  with  Daniel  ? 

He  thought  it  too  late.  It  was  after  11  o'clock,  and  the 
night  was  terrible.  Doctors  are  never  alarmed  about  chronic 
cases,  or  is  it  that  they  distrust  the  saving  power  of  a  pre- 
scription that,  in  all  probability,  will  be  changed  the  next 
day  ?  But  doctors  have  a  grand  pride  of  profession.  If  Dan- 
iel requested  it,  the  physician  would  go.  They  re-entered  the 
hallway,  at  Ohio  street,  and  waited  below. 

Mrs.  Errington  sent  down  word  that  she  had  retired,  and 
that  the  patient  was  still  asleep  and  getting  needed  rest. 
The  doctor  was  inclined  to  be  indignant  that  Daniel  should 
have  placed  him  in  an  embarrassing  position — for  when  a 
man  is  dying  under  one  doctor's  hands  it  is  unprofessional  for 
any  other  doctor  to  be  around. 


THE  COMING  EVENT.  161 

But  Daniel  still  had  the  right  to  see  Harmon,  and  Mercy 
was  more  than  glad  to  again  greet  the  physician  who  had  so 
impressed  upon  her  the  necessity  of  humoring  Daniel  in  his 
delirium. 

The  aged  curer  of  disease  looked  at  Harmon  with  the 
sphinx-like  face  of  an  eminent  practitioner.  They  could  not 
tell  what  the  decision  would  be. 

"  The  man  is  worn  out  with  hard  work,"  the  doctor  said. 
"He  has  the  diathesis  of  a  slow  mineral  poison,  but  it  could 
not  well  be  said  that  the  poison  would  kill  him.  He  is  tired 
— too  tired  to — get  well  soon." 

Mercy  threw  herself  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  and  buried  her 
face  in  the  coverlet.  The  doctor  took  his  leave.  Daniel 
returned.  Harmon  had  awakened. 

"  Oh,  Harmon  !  My  blessed,  gentle  brother,  why  did  you 
work  so  hard  for  us  ?  Why  did  we  let  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  well  repaid  for  living,"  he  said  ;  "  only  don't 
forget  mother  when  I'm  gone."  He  sank  once  more  to  sleep. 
The  consciences  of  such  self-abnegating  men  .are  like  white 
lamb's  wool — ay !  are  white  as  no  fuller  can  white  ! 

The  mother  had  been  persuaded  to  take  a  night's  rest  at 
home.  Daniel  led  Mercy  to  her  chamber.  She  promised  to 
lock  her  door,  and  proclaimed  her  sister's  goodness  and  her 
own  lack  of  heart  in  kissing  the  man  she  loved,  while  such 
an  unhappiness  rankled  in  her  soul.  She  was  in  a  ferment 
of  feeling.  The  equilibrium  came  when  hope  told  her  that 
Harmon  would  get  well  after  all. 

Doors  opened  and  shut  all  over  the  house.  Daniel  sat  by 
Harmon's  bed  and  read  of  murders  in  the  palace.  At  times 
the  watcher  would  start  wildly,  having  imagined  that  he  sa\v 
a  gray  woman  striving  at  the  lock  of  Mercy's  door.  And 
then  a  thousand  strengths  would  come  to  this  young  man, 
and  he  would  rage,  thinking  to  penetrate  to  Mary's  couch, 
and  tearing  the  secret  from  her,  cast  her  forth  upon  the 
blast,  a  Furv  who  might  ride  well-saddled  on  a  night  like  this. 

11 


162  DANIEL  TRENTWOETHY. 

Such,  reader,  was  the  crisis  in  that  great  house  as  it  rocked 
and  creaked  under  the  shadow  of  a  catastrophe  which  was 
to  make  mankind  turn  pale. 

For  the  great  city  itself  was  marked  with  the  diathesis  of 
destruction. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE    SATURDAY    NIGHT     FIRE. 

IN  the  morning  Daniel  awoke  Mercy  early,  and  together 
they  took  breakfast  at  a  restaurant.  Thence  they  proceeded 
to  Clinton  street,  where  Daniel  was  given  his  old  chamber 
and  lay  down  to  sleep. .  The  mother  set  out  for  Mary's.  Dan- 
iel had  much  to  do.  He  could  not  afford  to  go  to  Fullerton 
avenue.  He  arose  at  12  o'clock.  He  was  to  spend  the  after- 
noon with  the  agent. 

"  Mercy,"  he  said,  as  they  debated  the  strange  state  of 
their  affairs,  "  I  can  see  now  that  it  has  been  your  presence 
and  friendship  all  along  that  have  held  me  fast  to  the  path 
of  honor  and  duty.  There  were  pitfalls  about  me  that  I  did 
not  see ;  I  see  them  now,  and  I  know  that  you  alone  have 
preserved  me." 

He  left  that  humble  home  speaking  bravely,  but  wonder- 
ing where  matters  were  going  to  terminate.  Could  he  bring 
Errington  through  without  indictment  by  the  grand  jury 
that  would  begin  its  sessions  Monday  ?  Could  he  prevail 
on  Errington  to  go  to  a  hospital  ?  And,  even  if  Errington 
would  go,  would  not  Mary  go  with  him  ?  What  was  his 
duty  as  a  citizen  anxious  to  keep  free  of  the  foulest  crime 
that  had  ever  come  straight  home  to  him  ?  And  what 
grounds  had  he  for  suspecting  Mary  ?  None.  Yet  she  had 
been  too  loving  last  night.  So  he  thought — but  did  he  not 


THE  SATUUDA  Y  NIG  FIT  If  IRE.  163 

think  so,  too,  when  she  played  "  Vuelta  Zingara  "  because 
she  knew  he  liked  the  air,  and  yet  had  been  engaged  to 
merry  Errington  all  along  for  four  months  ?  Thus  he  ex- 
cused the  gray  woman — for  thus  the  assassination  went 
further  from  his  garments. 

He  made  the  arrangement  with  the  ex-agent.  It  was  late 
in  the  afternoon  when  they  finished  the  interview.  The 
wind  was  not  so  fierce,  and  the  temperature  had  risen  many 
degrees.  Daniel  was  anxious  to  get  to  the  North  Side,  as 
Harmon  was  known  to  be  very  low,  and  he  could  not  bear  to 
seem  unthoughtful  of  the  self-forgetting  friend  of  his  youth 
— the  only  link  between  his  boyhood  and  his  present  life. 
But  go  he  must  to  Mercy  Hospital.  He  took  a  "hack." 
They  would  give  the  patient  a  good  room,  looking  out  on 
Calumet  avenue,  but  would  not  be  ready  until  Monday. 
Daniel  was  to  meet  the  ex-agent  at  the  corner  of  Clark  and 
Adams  streets,  and  see  him  off  at  the  Canal  street  depot. 

The  man  was  there.  It  was  10  o'clock.  "  I  have  thought 
of  a  document  that  you  want,"  he  said.  "  When  I  closed 
the  deal  for  the  Sub-Aqueous  Company  the  nineteen  crooked 
Aldermen  fixed  up  a  paper  to  the  effect  that  they  were  all 
equally  participants,  and  would  all  stand  by  each  other. 
Errington  tried  hard  to  get  quit  of  'em,  but  they  made  him 
sign  it,  along  with  the  rest.  Then  they  had  a  row  over  the 
custody  of  the  paper.  So  I  says  :  '  Gentlemen,  I'm  in  this 
pretty  deep  myself  ;  I'll  just  keep  it  for  you.'  I  solved  it 
effectually,  and  took  it  to  my  friend,  the  County  Clerk. 
'  Here  is  my  widowed  sister's  will,'  says  I,  '  keep  it  in  your 
safe  for  me.'  So  he  put  it  away.  It's  in  the  Clerk's  office. 
It  ought  to  be  destroyed.  Here,  I'll  write  you  an  order  for 
it.  Got  a  pencil  ?  Yes.  There — that'll  get  it." 

They  started  for  the  depot.  As  they  approached  the  corner 
of  Adams  and  Wells  street  flames  belched  out  of  a  grocery, 
and  with  the  instincts  of  Chicagoans,  who  dearly  loved  afire 
at  that  time,  the  men,  with  five  hundred  others,  ranged 


164  DANIEL  TRENTWOnTHT. 

themselves  across  the  street,  and  the  patrolmen  came  up 
with  a  rush  and  speedily  put  out  the  blaze.  The  two  men 
started  for  the  depot  again. 

As  they  turned  it  seemed  as  if  the  whole  western  heavens 
were  ablaze.  The  sky  that  a  moment  before  had  been  black 
was  now  the  background  of  more  sparks  than  Chicago  had 
ever  before  seen. 

A  planing  mill  at  the  corner  of  Canal  and  West  Van  Buren 
streets,  just  over  the  South  Branch,  exactly  four  blocks  south 
of  the  point  where  Daniel  had  hung  on  the  wires,  had  broken 
into  full  blaze,  and  burned  with  a  briskness  that  was  en- 
tirely new  to  sight-seers.  When  Daniel  was  a  boy,  coopers' 
shavings  were  considered  the  very  best  of  kindlings,  because 
of  the  vigor  of  the  fire  they  made.  The  planing  mill,  sitting 
in  the  midst  of  a  lumber  yard  a  block  in  size,  burned  as  if  it 
were  filled  with  coopers'  shavings — as  if  it  had  a  blower  over 
it  in  some  fabulous  grate  set  into  the  dark  night.  People 
gathered  on  the  east  side  of  the  river  and  bespoke  a  hard 
task  for  the  firemen.  The  block  was  all  on  fire  within  twenty 
minutes.  What  was  strange  was  that  the  lumber  burned  as 
furiously  as  the  planing  mill.  Much  feeling  had  grown  up 
against  wooden  planing  mills,  and  the  crowds  were  glad  to 
see  this  one  go.  Millions  of  feet  of  lumber,  several  coal  yards 
and  two  blocks  of  tenement  houses  were  threatened.  The 
fire  gained  in  fury  and  noise. 

And  now  a  spectacle  that  was  novel,  and  has  never  been 
repeated,  was  offered  to  the  startled  city.  A  golden  storm 
covered  the  town  as  far  northward  as  Lincoln  Park.  What 
made  so  many  sparks  ?  And  what  made  them  last  so  long  ? 
Everybody  asked  this.  These  sparks  could  only  be  com- 
pared in  persistence  with  the  mineral  filings  that  burn  so  long 
in  the  sky  after  a  first-class  rocket  has  exploded.  The  slate 
roof  of  the  Fort  Wayne  freight  depot,  a  structure  a  block 
long,  was  covered  with  bright  coals  for  hours. 


THE  SATURDAY  NIGHT  FIRE.  165 

"  Trentworthy,"  said  the  ex-agent,  excitedly,  "What  do 
you  think  now  ?  My  house  has  got  to  go  !  Ain't  that  hard  ? 
Ain't  that  hard  ?  " 

And  so  the  two  men  ran  around  to  Madison  street,  pushed 
their  way  westward  to  Clinton  street  and  reached  the  en- 
dangered home  of  the  man  who  had  hoped  his  troubles  were 
over.  Like  heroes  they  worked  to  get  out  the  furniture. 
There  was  not  a  great  deal  to  save,  yet  it  is  notable  how  long 
a  pipe  will  stick  in  a  wall,  and  how  hot  a  stove  will  be  if  a 
party  of  men  be  anxious  to  get  the  things  out  of  a  house. 

And  Daniel  did  not  forget  Mercy's  home.  Careful  ob- 
servation from  that  quarter  soon  assured  him  that  the  house 
was  safe.  It  was  a  block  to  the  leeward  of  the  oldest  line  of 
fire.  Nothing  was  disturbed  in  the  honse.  No  one  was  there 
but  a  badly-frightened  servant. 

The  great  fire  spread  backward  to  Clinton.  It  burned 
northward  to  Adams.  It  swept  eastward,  two  blocks  wide, 
to  the  river.  As  the  blocks  next  the  river  were  far  more 
than  three  hundred  feet  deep,  the  total  extent  of  the  burned 
area  was  called  six  blocks.  The  loss  was  $1,000,000.  The 
salient  feature  was  the  unparalleled  flight  of  sparks.  The 
dramatic  portion  was  the  salvation  of  a  large  elevator  that, 
standing  by  the  river  in  the  course  of  the  fire,  was  in  immi- 
nent peril  several  times. 

Men  stood  and  pondered  over  the  peculiarities  of  this  con- 
flagration. "  It  might  have  gone  farther,"  they  said,  with  a 
queer  feeling  that  it  is  said  a  gamester  has  when  what  he 
terms  an  invincible  hand  proves  to  be  second-best. 

It  was,- then,  possible  that  Chicago  could  burn!  There 
was  a  merry  crackle  about  that  fire  that  no  one  could  under- 
stand, because  the  desiccating  power  of  the  week's  blast  had 
not  been  considered.  There  were  men  who  claimed  they  had 
foreseen  it  all,  but  their  remarks  were  not  considered  im- 
portant enough  to  be  reported  until  the  next  week. 

The  firemen  performed  prodigies  of  valor.     While  Daniel 


16G  DANIEL  TllENTU  ORTUY. 

and  his  burned-out  acquaintance  stood  by  their  furniture,  on 
Jackson,  beyond  Clinton  street,  they  saw  a  fireman  enter  a 
little  wooden  house  that  seemed  all  ablaze.  He  put  a  ladder 
Tip  inside,  and  then  disappeared  in  the  smoke.  He  knocked 
a  hole  in  the  shakes,  or  shingles,  with  his  pipe,  and  when  he 
emei-ged  above  might  have  been  taken  for  a  martyr  at  the 
stake.  He  was  surrounded  by  flame,  and  hemmed  at  the 
waist  by  lolling  shingles  that,  like  all  Chicago,  thirsted  for 
water  or  fire,  which  ever  might  come  first.  But,  a  moment 
afterward,  the  great  stream  fairly  knocked  the  ridgepole 
from  that  roof.  The  whole  fire  was  out  instanter.  In  all  his 
experience  Daniel  had  never  seen  an  act  so  deliberately  brave. 

"If  that  engine  had  failed  him,  he'd  a-been  a  goner/'  said 
the  agent.  And  even  while  he  spoke,  the  men  came  running 
away  from  that  very  engine,  carrying  two  dead  laddies,  and 
the  house  that  had  been  saved  was  on  fire  once  more.  This 
was  the  second  engine  that  had  been  lost. 

And  now  the  editors  set  to  work  to  bring  out  an  account 
of  this  conflagration  that  should  startle  the  region,  as  Chi- 
cago had  always  startled  it.  The  headlines  reached  to  the 
bottom  of  columns  thirty-six  inches  long.  Page  after  page 
of  the  great  sheets  were  filled  with  everything  that  every- 
body could  write  about  it — "and  about  it,"  as  Byron  might 
say.  There  was  no  possibility  of  supplying  the  demand  for 
papers.  "One  of  the  severest  sufferers  by  this  appalling 
conflagration,"  said  the  press,  "  is  ex-Alderman  Errington, 
who  owned  many  of  the  cottages  and  tenements  in  the  blocks 
west  of  Canal  street." 

Yes,  it  was  a  bad  night  for  Ralph  Errington.  And  in 
many  ways.  For,  as  Daniel  stood  at  the  pile  of  household 
goods,  a  detective  tapped  the  ex-agent  on  the  shoulder.  "  I 
have  been  looking  for  you,"  he  said,  "  don't  leave  the  city, 
as  they  will  want  you  at  the  jury-room  next  week.  You  will 
not  be  touched  if  you  do  not  try  to  skip." 

" Get  the  paper,  Dan,"   said  the  ex-agent,"   "and  I  don't 


THE  SATURDAY  NIGHT  FIRE.  167 

think   I'll   have    to  give   up  anything  to  the  grand   jury. 

So  the  game  was  up.  They  must  face  the  grand  jury. 
This  fire  disaster  would  cost  Errington  $20,000.  Daniel 
hurried  over  to  the  mansion.  They  had  heard  the  bad  news. 
Mary  did  not  complain  at  his  long  absence. 

"  Ralph  is  better,"  she  said.     "  Harmon  is  lower,  I  think." 

The  private  secretary  watched  her.  He  thought  she  was 
sorry  that  things  were  not  the  other  way.  He  went  to 
Errington's  bedside.  The  man  had  not  had  an  acute  attack 
in  twenty-four  hours.  He  was  much  encouraged.  The  bad 
news  that  Daniel  brought  could  not  distress  him.  "  1  think," 
he  said,  "  you  had  better  try  to  see  the  chief  clerk  of  the 
Clerk's  office  to-morrow.  He  lives  on  West  Taylor  street 
somewhere,  and  the  O'Leary  boys  can  tell  you  just  the  house. 
Mary  has  them  around  here  a  great  deal,  you  know.  Get  a 
carriage  and  offer  to  take  a  friend  or  two.  Stop  at  the  Court 
House  and  have  him  get  you  the  document.  Buy  everything 
for  the  boys  ;  that  will  be  all  right.  I  have  had  my  money 
back  on  them  houses.  I'm  awful  glad  I  hain't  had  any  pains 
for  a  day.  I  wonder  if  Mary  hasn't  killed  out  the  poison. 
Dan,  did  you  ever  see  such  weather  ?  I  never  knew  the 
wind  to  blow  like  this  before — never  in  my  life." 

"  Mr.  Errington,"  Daniel  said,  after  the  sick  man  had 
finished  his  say,  "Mary  has  had  a  great  deal  to  do  lately. 
She  looks  very  much  worn." 

"  Yes,  Mary  is  a  good  wife." 

"  And  Harmon,  let  me  tell  you — now  don't  get  nervous — 
is  very  low.  My  doctor  was  here  last  night,  after  you  went 
to  sleep,  and  says  Harmon  is  dying  from  past  overwork  as 
much  as  from  poison.  Such  a  man  as  you,  he  says,  must  re- 
cover, if  he  keep  away  from  the  cause  of  the  poisoning.  Now 
I  thought,  inasmuch  as  Harmon  cannot  be  moved,  and  inas- 
much as  being  here  would  not  help  your  spirits,  that  maybe 
you  would  not  mind  going  down  to  Mercy  Hospital  for  a 
week  or  so,  to  see  if  it  didn't  help  you,  right  off." 


168  DANIEL  TRENT  WORTHY. 

Daniel  made  brave  to  look  firmly  at  Mary.  She  sat  speech- 
less. The  proposition  came  upon  her  like  a  stroke  of  light- 
ning. 

The  sick  man  was  hurt.  "  Oh  !  Dan,"  he  said,  "  That's 
hard.  That's  hard,  Dan.  Oh !  I  didn't  expect  that." 

The  gray  woman  would  triumph  and  not  say  a  word.  But 
she  had  endured  a  bad  moment. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  that  my  doctor  says  you  would  get 
well  at  Mercy  Hospital,  and  that  I  have  been  there  to-night. 
They  would  give  you  a  room  that  cost  $30  a  week  or 
more." 

"  Why  didn't  your  doctor  come  in  and  see  me  last  night  ?  " 

"Because  I  was  not  willing  to  disturb  you,  dear,"  said  the 
gray  woman. 

The  project  took  a  different  turn  in  the  man's  mind.  He 
wanted  to  live.  He  thought  he  was  going  downward  of  late 
— as  he  was.  He  grasped  at  this  straw  of  hope.  It  was  not 
to  be  put  out  of  his  own  house — it  was  to  go  out. 

"  This  house  has  cost  me  a  heap  of  trouble,  Dan,"  he  said. 

And  the  wife  was  forced,  for  fear  of  Daniel,  whose  slave 
she  was,  to  let  the  sick  man  plan  his  departure  Monday. 

"  You  scare  me  with  your  harshness  to  me,"  she  com- 
plained, in  a  low  voice,  as  Daniel  started  for  Harmon's  room. 

Daniel  had  loved  her  once.  He  could  never  be  cruel  to 
her.  Besides,  his  suspicions  might  be  without  basis.  He 
spoke  pleasantly  to  her.  He  urged  the  idea  of  the  hospital. 
She  did  not  oppose  it. 

He  bade  her  good  night,  and  was  almost  sure  she  clung  to 
him. 

"  Is  that  the  way  women  do  when  they  are  used  to  a  man, 
or  do  they  do  it  because  they  love  him  ?  "  That  was  what 
Daniel  asked.  He  could  not  tell.  Mary  had  misled  him 
once.  He  must  riot  be  too  conceited. 

Nevertheless,  when  he  looked  at  Mercy  he  had  no  doubts. 
He  did  not  want  her  to  die,  and  his  heart  labored  at  the 


AT  EIGHT  FORTY-FIVE  P.  M.  169 

thought  of  it.  He  repeated  his  warnings,  and  Mercy  promised 
the  greatest  circumspection. 

Daniel  watched  away  an  easier  night,  and  the  gray  woman 
returned  to  her  rich  boudoir. 

"  Monday,"  she  murmured,  and  set  her  face. 


CHAPTEK  XXL 

AT    EIGHT    FOKTY-FIVE    P.  M. 

THK  big  wind,  which  had  been  the  one  topic  of  general 
conversation,. previous  to  the  Saturday  night  fire,  now  rose 
to  a  hurricane  which  threatened  great  damage.  The  vast 
crowds  that  hurried,  for  Sunday  sight-seeing,  to  the  waste 
place  south  of  Adams  street,  did  so  at  the  risk  of  impairing 
their  eyesight,  for  the  ashes  and  soot  and  sand  eddied  and 
poured  forth  in  quantities  that  would  surpass  the  credulity 
of  the  hearer  of  this  tale.  The  people  came  miles  and  stayed 
to  look  but  five  minutes.  There  it  was.  A  flat  place  in  the 
heart  of  the  West  Side,  without  a  ruin  remaining. 

In  the  central  part  were  the  two  abandoned  engines,  black- 
ened and  twisted.  It  was  not  a  pleasant  sight,  even  if  one 
could  have  gazed  at  it  without  endangering  the  eyes. 

The  scientists,  or  some  of  them,  discourse  on  the  over- 
whelming percentage  of  water  in  all  things  terrestrial.  Was 
the  equilibrium  destroyed  in  that  five-month  drought,  and 
that  wind  of  a  week  that  would  suck  the  hydrant  water  off  a 
lilac  bush  in  an  hour,  leaving  it  dryer  than  it  was  before  ? 

Was  there  a  peculiar  electrical  force  in  the  air — an  explo- 
sive tendency  ?  Was  the  air  itself  so  dry  that  it  was  inflam- 
mable ? 

Was  it  not  the  time  of  all  times  when  Chicago  should  be 


170  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

on  the  watch,  with  fifty  fire  engines,  that  incipient  fire 
should  perish  in  its  weakness  ? 

And  if  there  extended  to  the  southwest  two  solid  miles  of 
wooden  houses,  with  fences  built  high  to  emphasize  neigh- 
borhood hatreds,  and  barns  clustering  thickly  to  complete 
the  solid  wooden  connection,  then  should  not  the  inhabitants 
be  on  the  outer  walls,  water  in  hand,  to  quench  the  idlest 
flame? 

Should  not  the  wind  come  off  some  well-built  quarter, 
where  the  fireman,  in  case  of  conflagration,  could  make  at 
least  a  passing  stand? 

But  Chicago  had  only  eleven  engines  when  it  set  out  to 
fight  the  Saturday  conflagration. 

It  lost  two  of  those,  and  several  of  the  others  were  partially 
disabled. 

The  department  having  stood  before  that  fire — the  men 
having  fought  within  ten  feet  of  an  intense,  infernal  heat 
that  had  made  Daniel  and  the  ex-agent  writhe  a  hundred  feet 
away — these  firemen  were  hors  du  combat.  The  man  who 
had  been  in  the  battle  all  night  and  far  into  Sunday,  could 
not  fight  again  Sunday  night. 

The  hurricane  that  blew  over  this  drought-dried  city  came 
over  a  country  that  had  seen  no  rain.  The  air  that  was  cold 
on  Friday  seemed  superheated  on  Sunday.  It  was  very  hot 
— a  sirocco.  It  came  from  DeKoven  street.  It  passed  into 
the  lake  at  the  water  works.  It  thus  blew  south  of  south- 
west. 

Did  ever  city  show  such  a  predisposition  for  destruction  ? 
Was  there  ever  a  diathesis  so  striking  ? 

If  the  prophets  ever  combine  so  many  bad  antecedents 
again,  they  may  foretell  great  events.  They  may  arise  and 
prognose  balefully. 

Daniel  and  Mercy  repeated  the-  course  of  the  preceding 
day.  The  mother  stayed  closely  by  Harmon,  and  Mercy  and 
her  lover  returned  to  the  Clinton  street  house,  where  they 


AT  EIGHT  FORTY-FIVE  P.  M.  171 

found  the  servant  in  a  high  state  of  disquiet,  notwithstand- 
ing the  presence  and  assurance  of  Daniel  on  the  previous 
night.  The  largest  fire  ever  known  in  Chicago,  and  only  a 
block  away,  was  apt  to  terrify  the  only  occupant  of  a  house. 

They  were  by  far  too  close  to  the  center  of  interest.  Clin- 
ton street  was  thronged  as  it  had  never  been  before. 

"Mercy,"  Daniel  said,  "  I  am  sorry  I  have  so  much  to  do 
to-day,  for  Harmon's  state  is  critical.  I  feel  I  ought  to  be 
there  this  afternoon.  I  will  go  to  sleep  here,  again.  I  sent 
word  to  Mrs.  Trenton  not  to  expect  me  home  until  the  folks 
were  better,  and  she  will  not  worry.  You  had  better  go  back 
to  Mary's  as  soon  as  you  can,  and  help  your  mother.  I  hope 
to  arrive  there  about  dark.  We  will  go  out  for  supper.  Isn't 
it  dreadful  ?  " 

He  was  weary  and  his  spirits  were  low.  Death  was  over 
them.  And,  when  one  loses  a  self-forgetting  friend,  what  a 
loss  is  that  ?  Though  Daniel's  personal  affairs,  owing  to  the 
liberality  of  Errington,  were  highly  satisfactory,  still,  his 
two  friends  were  in  the  dark  valley.  Could  he  afford  to  lose 
them  ?  Thus,  setting  sympathy  aside,  he  was  very  uneasy. 
The  weather  had  sucked  the  courage  well  out  of  men.  He 
looked  from  the  Clinton  street  house  northward.  It  was  all 
ashes — now  in  gusts,  now  a  steady  storm  of  the  desert.  He 
thought  of  camels,  with  their  ugly,  patient  attitudes.  "  I 
wish  I  had  one,"  he  muttered,  and  went  to  bed. 

It  was  a  dreadful  day;  every  living  witness  testifies.  The 
wind  gauges  record  it.  The  barometer  has  it  chronicled. 
Thus  bad  began. 

When  Daniel  awoke  it  was  one  o'clock.  He  was  late.  He 
cautioned  the  girl  about  the  necessity  of  care,  gave  her  fifty 
cents  if  she  would  stay  in  and  keep  the  house  locked  against 
all  comers,  and  sought  the  O'Leary's  cottage  at  137  DeKoven 
street.  The  children  told  him  where  the  chief  clerk's  house 
was,  back  on  West  Taylor.  He  knocked  at  the  door.  The 
head  of  the  house  had  gone  to  the  concert  at  Turner  Hall,  on 


172  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

the  North  Side,  at  Chicago  avenue.  Then  Daniel  visited 
the  ex-agent.  Daniel's  desire  was  to  go  to  Mercy,  and  yet  he 
felt  that  Errington's  affairs  were  of  very  great  importance. 
The  ex-agent  also  thought  it  a  matter  of  the  highest  urgency 
that  they  should  obtain  and  destroy  that  inculpatory  docu- 
ment. 

The  feeling  of  unrest  came  strong  on  Daniel.  He  spoke 
of  it  to  the  ex-agent.  "It's  the  dry  wind,"  said  that  expe- 
rienced person — "  and  the  crooked  work.  You  are  not  used 
to  fretting." 

Back  Daniel  went  to  West  Taylor  street.  The  ex-agent 
was  already  in  a  part  of  another  cottage,  and  was  cheering 
up.  He  had  money,  and  did  not  lack  wit.  "  I  will  go  with 
you,"  he  said.  "  When  you  catch  the  chief  clerk  call  for 
me." 

The  master  of  the  house  on  Taylor  street  had  not  returned 
at  six  o'clock.  At  that  hour  the  tobacco  smoke  was  getting 
very  black  in  Turner  Hall,  and  Hans  Balatka  was  preparing 
for  the  closing  march. 

Daniel  went  to  Clinton  street  for  supper.  "  I'm  glad  you 
stayed  in,"  he  smiled  to  the  servant,  and  thought  it  was  the 
only  thing  that  had  gone  right  in  the  day. 

At  eight  o'clock,  having  waited  as  long  as  he  could,  he 
walked  rapidly  down  the  street  to  Taylor.  He  had  been  told 
the  chief  clerk  was  always  at  home  Sunday  nights  at  8:15  or 
earlier.  He  pulled  the  bell.  Yes,  the  master  had  come. 
Would  Daniel  step  in  ?  There  was  company.  Would  Dan- 
iel step  up-stairs,  where  the  chief  clerk  was  washing  the  dust 
off  his  face,  neck,  and  ears  ? 

Daniel  knew  this  gentleman.  "Glad  to  see  _you,  Dan,"  he 
said.  "  Take  a  seat  by  that  window.  Yes,  I  know  about 
that  will.  It's  in  the  outer  vault,  where  we  keep  all  such 
special  deposits  for  friends.  The  watchman  can  get  it.  I'll 
just  write  a  note  to  him  in  a  minute." 

It  was  8:20.     Daniel  gazed  out  on  the  alley  that  ran  be- 


AT  EIGHT  FORTY-FIVE  P.  3d.  173 

tween  DeKoven  and  Taylor.  The  wind  blew  through  the 
window  casings. 

The  householder  washed  and  splashed.  "  Ah  !  "  he  said, 
"  that  feels  good.  I'd  like  a  bath  all  over,  but  my  people 
are  all  here,  and  I'm  late  now.  Good  music  and  very  good 
beer  this  afternoon.  I'll  go  in  the  front  room  and  write  the 
note  to  the  janitor." 

"Dan's  in.  a  hurry  for  that  will,"  he  soliloquized  as  he 
read  the  ex-agent's  authority  to  give  the  document  to 
Daniel. 

It  was  8:30,  and  Daniel  sat  gazing  on  a  point  that  must 
for  ages,  and  for  countless  millions  of  people,  have  a  dramatic 
situation  that  cannot  be  revealed  in  phrases. 

But  Daniel  was  thinking  of  Harmon. 

The  chief  cleric  was  laboring  at  the  note,  for  \ve  are  all 
literary  creatures.  We  love  a  smooth  sentence.  It  was  an  op- 
pressive air,  there  was  no  music,  and  there  was  no  beer. 

Meanwhile,  at  Ohio  street  there  was  another  acute  attack: 

"  Mary  !  oh  !  Mary  !  I'm  taken  again  ! "  cried  the  husband 
of  the  gray  woman. 

"  It's  nothing,  dear,"  she  said.     "It  will  pass  away." 

But  it  did  not  pass  away.  Was  it  not  terrifying — this 
once  strong  man,  his  hair  starting  in  all  directions,  his  red 
eyelashes,  his  pale  skin,  his  frightened  look — the  cramping 
of  the  legs,  the  utter  badness  of  his  taste,  the  nausea,  the 
heartburn,  the  fire  all  over  ?  How  "gladly  he  seizes  the  bowl 
of  emetic !  How  gladly  he  would  die  now  ! 

And  then,  weak  and  without  force  or  spirit  he  lies  back, 
almost  at  collapse,  almost  at  death  from  shock.  One  m®re 
acute  attack,  one  more  effort  of  nature  to  throw  off  the  irri- 
tating substances  that  are  eating  him,  and  the  shock  will 
kill  him — ns  if  he  had  been  beaten  with  a  club. 

"Mamie,"  he  moaned,  far  down  the  valley,  "  don't  let  me 
go  away  from  you.  Don't  let  them  take  me  to  the  hos- 
pital." 


174  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

He  was  too  weak  to  remember  who  wished  him  to  go.  It 
must  be  an  enemy. 

The  gray  woman  reassured  him.  She  wet  his  cold  fore- 
head with  a  sponge  dipped  in  alcohol.  .,  • 

"  You  have  been  a  faithful  wife,  Mamie.  You  have 
watched  me  all  the  time.  Forgive  me,  Mamie,  that  I  was  so 
stubborn  about  the  smelting  works.  I  didn't  believe,  until 
the  foreman  said  he  would  quit  if  I  didn't  stay  out  of  there. 
Every  time  I  went  I  had  one  of  those  attacks." 

"  But  this,"  he  moaned,  looking  up  at  his  keeper  as  a  hope- 
less dog  looks  in  its  .last  moments,  "this,  Mamie,  was  the 
worst  attack  I  have  ever  had.  Can't  you  help  me,  Mamie  ? 
Forgive  me,  dear.  I  love  you.  I  will  be  a  better  man. 
Can't  you  help  me,  Mamie  ?  " 

She  sat  stoically  beside  that  couch  of  foreshadowed  death. 

"Please  give  me  the  opium,  Mamie;  that  helped  me  so 
much  the  other  night." 

He  knew  its  taste.  She  could  not  refuse  the  draught  that 
would  again  put  him  in  a  torpor.  She  rose  to  get  it.  Watch 
her,  reader.  Does  she  move  reluctantly  ? 

"  Mary,  come  !  " 

It  is  the  white  face  and  great  black  eyes  of  Mercy. 

The  two  women  dash  from  the  room.  The  sick  man  looks 
for  his  opiate.  The  room  is  empty.  He  sees  the  vial  on  the 
stand.  It  is  but  three  feet  away.  He  is  sinking,  and  the 
fires  within  him  are  setting  up  brightly  once  more.  He  tries 
to  shriek.  He  tries  to  reach.  He  tries  to  understand.  He 
can  do  nothing,  but  falls  back  into  hopeless  despair. 

The  fires  begin.  He  is  willing  to  be  burned.  But  he  is 
not  willing  that  his  Mamie  should  be  gone.  Pie  would  cry 
out  in  his  utter  solitude,  but  to  cry  would  require  forces  that 
are  now  denied  to  him. 

And  now,  in  the  other  sick  room  : 

"  Harmon,  dear,  can't  you  speak  once  more  ?  "  It  is  the 
mother's  voice.  The  two  sisters  are  on  their  knees  beside 


PA  TRICK  0'  LEA  RY'S  HA  RN.  1 75 

the  bed.     The  mother  alone  has  the  supreme  privilege  of  the 

moment. 

"  I  am  not  suf— ,"  he  said.     "  I  th— I  will  get  well." 

"  Oh  !  Harmon,"  they  sobbed.  "Oh  !  Harmon  !  " 

It  is   misery  itself  to   see    the  living   as  they  receive  the 

dead.     For   this  reason  doctors  grow  proof  against  emotions. 

The  doctor  was  on  the  other  side.     He  held  Harmon's  pulse 

at  the  upper  arm. 

It  was  now  hard  for  the  patient  to  breathe.     Bnt  the  de- 
parting spirit   had  much  to  say.     It  must  crowd  it  all  into 

one  unfinished  speech. 

"  I — have — had — a — very — happy — life.     1^" 

So  have  all  who  forget  themselves  and  live  for  their  fellow 

men. 

The  dead  was  come.     He  who  had  lain,  a  precious  burden 

to  those  loving  hearts,  how   lay  he    now  ?     Horrible  !     But 

not  horrible  to  God  !     Ay,  and  praise  that  God — not  horrible 

to  those  for  whom  that  tenant  had  lived,  and  left  his  frail  and 

yet  beloved  house  behind. 

The   cathedral  gong   in  the   great  parlor  struck   the  third 

quarter  after  8  o'clock  P.  M. 

The  gray  women  re-entered  the  other  chamber. 


CHAPTEPv  XX  II. 
PATRICK  O'LEARY'S  BARN. 


may  cast  our  eyes  backward  to  the  early  days,  forty 
years  before  this  night  of  oncoming  ruin,  and  see  the  trees 
waving  over  the  stream  at  the  foot  of  West  Taylor  street. 
We  may  behold  Patrick  O'Leary  and  his  wife  on  the  little 
cabbage  patch  up  the  way.  Old  streets  —  some  of  these  that 


176  DANIEL  TRENTWOKTI1Y. 

are  back  thoroughfares  of  the  later  day  !  We  may  see  him 
safe  in  his  cottage,  beyond  the  reach  of  the  landlord  in 
Mayo.  He  waxes  better  off  and  builds  an  addition  to  the 
house,  so  that  the  neighbors  call  it  a  double  cottage  in  trying 
to  remember  it. 

And  now  in  these  later  years  he  needs  a  shed,  at  the  alley, 
for  the  real-estate  speculators  must  invade  his  cabbage-patch, 
and  fight  his  title,  even  to  the  ground  under  the  very  house 
that  he  lives  in  !  Musha !  Yes,  he  must  keep  the  horse 
further  away  from  the  cottage,  for  the  fresh  air  is  being  cut 
off.  The  village  is  growing,  and  Halsted  street  is  no  longer 
at  the  far  west. 

He  casts  his  eye  across  the  scattering  town.  There  is  but 
one  brick  building  within  sight — the  Lake  House.  He 
hitches  his  express  wagon  and  meanders  with  the  road  from 
the  trees  at  Taylor  along  the  bayou  to  Wolf  Point,  where  he 
may  cross  on  the  draw-bridge.  The  schooners  leave  lumber 
there,  at  Wells  and  Market,  on  South  Water  street.  We 
may  see  him  whipping  the  inglorious  steed  homeward  over  a 
bad  road  with  the  fagots  for  a  city's  pyre.  Load  after  load, 
it  toils  over  the  greasy  clay.  Let  no  man  stop  the  portage  ! 
It  is  the  chariot  of  grim  Destiny. 

Set  those  posts  firm  !  Ah,  it  is  expensive,  this  keeping 
the  horse  and  cow  so  fine.  So  good  a  shebeen  had  never  the 
O'Learys  on  the  old  sod.  Throth  now ! 

And  at  the  heads  of  the  posts  nail  scantling,  and  two  feet 
from  the  ground.  Thus,  as  we  should  build  a  stockade,  we 
have  an  inclosure  fronting  the  alley,  twenty  feet;  backing 
from  the  alley,  sixteen  feet.  The  gate  shall  open  to  the 
alley,  from  a  pathway  five  feet  wide.  The  shed  and  the 
pathway  shall  fill  the  width  of  the  lot. 

Seven  feet  to  the  top    of  the  lower  floor;  ten-foot    si  •• 
boards     along   the     alley,    fourteen-foot    side-boards     al.>..r 
the     inside ;  a  roof  that   shall    slant   from   the  top    of   the 
fourteen-foot   sideboards   to   the   top   of  the    ten-foot   side 


PATRICK  O'LEARrS  BARN,  177 

boards  at  the  alley;  a  floor  above  that  partly  covers  the 
ground  area  ;  sideboards  all  around,  that  are  nailed  in  per- 
pendicular position  ;  cleats  over  the  joints  of  sides  and  roof ; 
an  eight-foot  gate  ;  an  eight-foot  board  fence  running  forty 
feet  to  the  rear  of  the  cottage  on  both  sides. 

Here  the  demon  slept  for  decades.  The  alley  waxed  in 
Irish  splendor.  Would  you  look  upon  its  counterfeit  present- 
ment ?  Go  presently  to  Jefferson  street,  between  Taylor  and 
DeKoven,  and  gaze  westward  at  the  coupon,  the  stub,  of  this 
momentous  lane — at  that  part  which,  escaping  the  events  of 
the  October  night,  remains  to  recall  the  very  essence  of  that 
other  part  which  gave  to  the  world  one  of  its  conspicuous 
events. 

The  barns  increase  and  magnify  until  the  great  improve- 
ment of  Patrick  O'Leary  becomes  a  shed  in  name.  "  A 
miserable  shed,"  say  the  neighbors,  after  years  of  ill-con- 
cealed ill-wishings.  Along  the  alley,  as  often  as  a  barn,  might 
rise  a  house,  known  for  a  house  by  its  white  mosquito-net- 
ting at  the  windows,  but  adding  all  the  time  to  the  area  of 
wood  for  the  suckling  moments  of  the  monster  that  was  to  be 
born  in  the  O'Leary  stable. 

And  presently,  as  the  proud  householder  shuts  himself  in 
the  eight-foot  stockade,  between  his  double  cottage  and  his 
barn,  he  gazes  forth  upon  the  uprising  at  Jefferson  street, 
between  the  alley  and  DoKoven  street,  of  a  row  of  brick 
stores,  with  living-rooms  above — five  stores,  with  lots  that 
come  toward  the  O'Leary  cottage  75  feet,  where  a  row  of 
sheds  must  add  to  the  fire  litter.  At  the  alley,  a  two-story 
barn.  Between  the  Jefferson  street  lots  and  the  O'Leary 
cottage  one  large  frame  house  and  Mrs.  Annie  Murray's  cot- 
tage. Behind  each  of  these,  large  sheds  like  that  one  upon 
which  we  must  ever  look  with  awe.  South  of  the  O'Leary's 
the  cottage  of  James  E.  Dal  ton  ;  south  of  that  still,  Walter 
Forbes,  William  Lee,  Morris  Conover,  three  in  a  bed,  a  two- 
story  cottage  ;  back  of  it  a  pretentious  barn.  Across  the 

12 


178  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

alley,  sheds,  sheds ;  the  barn  of  the  chief  clerk,  a  paint  shop 
exactly  opposite  the  large  barn  of  the  three  men  in  a  cottage. 

Walk  up  and  down  that  alley  once  more.  Step  across 
Jefferson  street  into  the  ante-fire  alley.  Gaze  upon  its  salient 
points.  You  may  have  some  satisfaction  of  that  craving 
faculty  of  the  lover  of  great  events,  to  see  it  as  it  was — as  it 
can  not  be  again. 

What  would  we  not  give  to  look  upon  Blackfriars'  play- 
house !  Not  that  it  held  Shakespeare,  but  that  it  fixed  the 
walk  and  look  of  Hamlet,  the  mocking  laugh  of  Lear,  the 
balcony  of  Juliet,  the  knocking  on  Macbeth's  gates,  the 
pillow  of  Desdemona.  Take  now,  dear  reader,  that  woodcut 
of  old  London  bridge,  where  the  houses  go  across  the  Thames, 
where  the  human  heads  stick  forth  on  pikes  to  make  all  men 
loyal  subjects  of  the  good  Queen  ;  is  it  not  blessed  that  this 
woodcut,  preserved  by  chance  from  the  corrosion  of  years, 
has  also  by  the  veriest  chance  held  over  for  oxir  mortal 
vision  a  vie'w  of  that  roundish  play  house,  that  Blackfriars, 
where,  humble  as  a  stableman,  the  king  of  human  minds  put 
forth  his  sceptre  as  graciously  as  Ahasuerus  reached  out  to 
Esther  the  beautiful  !  Are  not  you,  am  not  I,  glad  to  come 
even  that  near  to  William  Shakespeare  ?  So  would  we  gaze 
on  this  manger  of  October.  So  would  we  to-day  welcome 
that  chance  picture,  which,  in  fixing  the  object  of  something 
thought  to  be  notable,  should  have  handed  to  another  age 
the  apparition  of  something  superbly  illustrious. 

It  is  gone.  We  may  only  go  along  the  alley  and  say:  "  It 
\vas  here.  Here  it  stood.  Set  here  the  monument.  Here 
slept  Ate,  the  fury,  for  thirty  years.  One  hundred  and 
twenty-five  feet  east  from  Jefferson,  on  the  south  side  of 
this  alley,  now  so  proper  with  good  buildings  ;  175  feet  in  a 
straight  line  from  the  northeast  corner  of  DeKoven  and  Jef- 
ferson streets,  at  No.  137  of  the  latter  street — there  it  stood, 
and  bided.'' 

'•  On  the  north  and  east  lines  of  e.  \  lot  12,  block  38,  school 


PATRICK  O'LE ART'S  BARN.  179 

section  addition  to  Chicago,"  says  your  maker  of  abstracts. 
Take  to  the  County  Treasurer  that  description  if  you  should 
come  to  pay  taxes  on  that  lot,  prolific  of  more  than  man  can 
tell. 

Into  that  shed,  along  with  the  monster,  along  with  the 
biding  Ate,  go  the  increasing  herd  of  milch  cows — one,  two, 
three — six,  some  say  ;  a  goat,  a  calf,  the  horse,  the  wagon. 
The  house  itself  is  so  large  that  Patrick  McLaughlin  may 
have  the  front  end  ;  "  for  what  is  style,  so  long  as  you  have 
the  money?"  ask  the  father  and  mother  as  they  lock  the 
barn  this  night  and  count  their  brood.  Monsters  springing 
autocthynous  out  of  the  soil  of  this  heaven-cursed  e.  i  of 
lot  12  ;  let  the  father  look  in  the  eye  of  his  oldest  boy  and 
foresee  that  lump  of  a  lad  ten  years  anon  with  his  red  knife 
of  murder  over  wife  and  sister  !  Lift  him,  Patrick  O'Leary, 
and  put  him  in  your  manger — with  Ate  ! 

But  if  the  father  see  not  this,  let  him  put  his  brood  to 
bed,  for  milk-people  rise  very  early.  Let  him  ask  :  Did  the 
load  of  timothy  hay  get  well  stored  in  the  mow  y ester  after- 
noon ?  Aye,  it  was  well  laid.  There  is  not  a  straw  lacking 
in  the  train.  And  the  beasts  are  well  bedded  with  planing- 
rnill  shavings. 

And  that  tenant,  Patrick  McLaughlin,  he  keeps  no  milk 
to  sell.  The  weariness  of  3  o'clock  A.  M.  does  not  stare  him. 
He  will  not  to  bed  with  the  O'Leary  brood — and  Ate  out  in 
the  manger.  He,  with  his  fiddle,  will  welcome  a  greenhorn. 

Who  was  that  greenhorn  ?  Let  him  rise  and  say,  "It  was 
I  who  journeyed  to  that  spot  for  that  welcome  !  " 

Thus  settles  the  darkness.  People  not  thick  upon  the 
streets — too  much  wind  for  that  ! — a  howling  blast,  awful  to 
think  of  !  Look  with  the  eye  of  the  ages  upon  that  scene! 
The  O'Learys  almost  asleep —  it  is  hard  to  rise  at  3  o'clock 
A.  M.  !  The  McLaughlins  preparing  for  the  greenhorn. 
Mary  O'Rorke  looking  eastward  out  of  the  Dalton  cottage, 
sure  to  see  a  light  reflected,  unable  to  see  the  stable  where 


180  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

Ate  stirs  and  is  to  wake.  William  Lee,  closing  the  blinds 
of  his  rearward  west  window.  Richard  Riley,  at  No.  130 
West  Twelfth  street,  in  the  act  of  raising  his  north  window, 
to  step  out  on  his  porch. 

In  the  Court  House  cupola,  a  mile  away,  Matthias  Schaffer, 
looking  dimly  on  all  the  city. 

Mary  O'Rorke,  William  Lee  and  Richard  Riley,  their 
eyes  peering  into  darkness,  unconsciously  ready  to  fix  the 
first  movement  of  Ate  outside  her  lair  !  Matthias  Schaffer, 
ready  to  see  it,  if  he  look  that  way  ! 

The  monster  wakes  after  her  long  sleep.  Now  is  her  mo- 
ment, or  never.  "  To  night  !  to-night !  "  she  whispers,  for 
she  would  wake  no  one — mankind  hates  her  so.  This  genie 
is  down  in  the  bottle,  now.  Be  still,  Mary  O'Rorke,  and 
William  Lee,  be  still  one  moment  more ! 

Ate  is  but  a  spark,  like  one  of  the  golden  motes  last  night 
that  floated  to  Lincoln  Park.  Ate  is  a  golden  mote  that 
leaps  across  a  chasm  from  wisp  to  wisp.  Ah  !  that  joint  of 
grass  was  almost  fatal  to  Ate  !  Will  she  leap  that  place  ? 
She  leaps  !  It  is  a  full  fiftieth  of  an  inch  along  a  wisp  of  timo- 
thy, but  it  is  a  wide  span  for  Ate.  It  infuriates  her.  She 
seizes  two  straws,  unseen  of  men.  "  Ha  !  "  she  whispers,  "  I 
have  them  all  ! "  She  crackles.  Hear  it,  oh,  Patrick  O'Leary, 
and  enchain  that  dreadful  demon  again  !  Look  north  of  north- 
ward, Patrick  O'Leary,  and  though  you  might  sleep  on  in 
safety  after  unleashing  Ate,  take  pity  on  those  twenty- 
one  hundred  acres,  on  those  hundred  thousand  fugitives, 
on  those  seventeen  thousand  houses,  on  those  three 
hundred  ghosts  that  are  else  to  wander  hither  com- 
plainingly  within  the  span  of  the  dreadful  day  that  is 
to  come !  Hear  you  not  that  light  crackle,  sleepy 
man  ?  Wake  !  wake !  your  demon  grows  ambitious.  The 
gale  is  shouting  to  her.  She  peers  out.  Up  past  a  broken 
cleat  there  darts  a  steel-like  tongue.  The  roof  heaves  and 
moves  like  the  deck  of  a  schooner.  It  is  Ate,  grown  strong 


PATRICK  O'LEARY'S  BARN.  181 

beneath,  after  tasting  of  the  gale.  She  tugs  again,  and 
laughs  so  loudly  that  three  witnesses  look  upon  her  first 
merriment,  yet  not  with  sufficient  horror. 

Those  who  have  trustworthy  watches  say  that  the  world 
gave  chase  at  a  quarter  before  nine. 

This  danse  macabre,  this  rise  of  Ate,  the  fury  of  Homer's 
Gorgon,  seen  by  William  Lee,  as  he  closed  his  westward 
blind,  was  that  night,  at  a  quarter  before  nine,  simply  a  shed 
furiously  on  fire.  What  had  William  Lee  thought  had  he 
known  that  countless  millions  would  look  with  his  eyes  upon 
that  lurid  unchaining?  Had  he  not  then  cried  out  that  he 
had  seen  Ate  herself,  or  Medusa  undamming  Phlegethon, 
hell's  river  of  fire  ?  Surely  he  had  run  to  the  city,  to  let 
them  lay  waste  millions  and  avert  the  event. 

You  look  straight  upward  to  a  tower  with  golden  ship  for 
weather-vat) e.  You  say  :  "It  is  not  high  ;"  and  yet,  mark 
you,  a  sparrow  flying  down  is  long  in  reaching  earth.  Then, 
from  afar,  you  cast  your  longing  eye  and  see  but  mist  above 
the  town.  There  is  no  tower.  You  say  in  triumph  :  "  'Tis 
not  high ! "  But  even  as  you  murmur,  upward  on  your 
startled  gaze  bursts  forth  that  self-same,  only  tower — and 
mart,  and  dome,  and  spire  sit  squat  beneath. 

Thus  William  Lee  gazed  simply  on  a  shed  on  fire.  But 
generations,  crowding  afar  to  the  theatre  of  history,  will  be- 
hold, at  that  humble  alley,  a  genie  that  grows  collossal  as  re- 
cede the  ages. 


182  DANIEL  TRENIWOHTI1Y. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THfi    GAS-HOLDEK. 

AT  8:30  P.  M.  Daniel  sat  looking  at  the  darkness  of  the 
alley.  "  Here,  Dan,"  said  the  chief  clerk,  "  see  if  this  is  all 
right,"  and  Daniel  rose,  passed  to  the  front  end  of  the  house, 
and  scanned  the  order  for  the  needed  paper.  "It  is  a  little 
unusual,  and  you  may  have  some  difficulty  in  getting  into 
the  office,  but  if  you  see  the  watchman  and  give  him  this, 
you  are  all  right.  Don't  be  in  a  hurry,  Dan,  I  haven't  seen 
you  much  of  late." 

So  Daniel  tarried  a  few  minutes,  perforce.  He  was  greatly 
under  obligations,  and  he  desired  to  show  it.  The  men  con- 
versed rapidly  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  They  together 
stepped  into  the  hall. 

The  back  end  of  the  house  was  on  fire. 

At  once  the  large  company  of  people  who  were  present  be- 
gan the  removal  of  goods.  They  had  seen  so  much  of  it  the 
night  before  that  they  were  becoming  expert. 

"Dan,  you  might  help  my  neighbor  there  ;  he  is  all  alone. 
I  guess  I  have  more  than  my  share,"  said  the  good-hearted 
clerk. 

And  Daniel  went  at  work  with  a  will,  and  soon  had  every- 
thing out  of  the  next  cottage,  and  had  it  across  Jeffe(rson. 
He  had  not  stopped  to  look  at  the  owner.  But  Daniel  knew 
all  about  fire.  He  had  worked  with  a  view  to  saving  every- 
thing. It  was  the  action  of  a  skilled  brain  and  a  good  right 
arm.  The  householder  stood  by  his  effects  and  grasped 
Daniel's  hand  as  the  cottage  went  down  under  the  blow-pi^ 
flame. 

"  You've  forgotten  me,"  he  said,  "  and  I  didn't  deserve  so 


THE  GAS-HOLDER.  183 

well  at  your  hands.  But  I  know  you  and  Harmon  Holebroke 
— both.  I  want  to  say  you  can  command  me — d'ye  hear? 
My  name  is  William  Fullmer." 

It  was  the.IIogmouth  ! 

Daniel  was  glad  to  be  at  peace  with  all  the  world.  "  Har- 
mon," he  said,  "  is  lying  very  low  at  Errington's  house.  I'm 
afraid  he  can't  live  many  days.  He  might  die  to-morrow." 

"  I  don't  want  him  to  die  till  I  see  him.  He  was  the  best 
man  in  the  office.  I  always  knew  it,  but  it  seemed  to  make 
me  mad.  I'll  go  and  see  him  to-night.  Are  you  going 
over  ?" 

"  Not  just  yet,"  answered  Daniel,  who  beheld  the  fire  already 
leaping  Forquer,  Evving  and  Polk  streets.  It  had  divided 
into  two  columns  of  blow-pipe  flames.  One  was  between 
Jefferson  and  Clinton,  and  the  other  between  Clinton  and 
Canal,  nearer  the  river. 

The  department  were  late  on  the  ground.  When  the  hose- 
cart  reached  the  plug  at  the  corner  of  Jefferson  and  DeKoven 
streets  it  had  run  eleven  blocks.  Matthias  Schaffer,  turn- 
ing, in  his  vigil,  to  the  southwest  quarter,  saw  the  fire,  but 
located  it  a  mile  too  far  away,  and  sounded  box  842,  for 
Halsted  and  Twenty-second  streets.  The  blow-pipe  had 
been  in  full  operation  fifteen  minutes  before  the  firemen  were 
well  at  work,  and  wherever  an  engine  got  in  front  of  the 
head  of  the  column  the  machine  could  with  difficulty  be 
saved. 

It  is  tolerably  well  established  that  no  alarm  was  ever 
struck  for  the  Chicago  fire.  Matthias  Schaffer,  discovering 
that  box  342  was  too  far  away,  concluded  that  the  engines 
would  see  the  fire  as  they  went  past.  The  still  alarm  to  the 
hose  cart,  eleven  blocks  away,  was  received  seventeen  min- 
utes before  the  Court  House  bell  struck. 

Engine  after  engine  arrived  and  got  into  trouble  without 
staying  the  progress  of  the  fire.  The  west  side  of  Jefferson 
street  was  preserved,  as  much  by  the  hurricane  as  anything 


184  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

else.  The  mission  at  Polk  made  a  great  fire,  and  the  high 
school  at  Clinton  and  Mather,  the  watch  factory,  and  Bate- 
ham's  planing  mills  and  lumber  yards  offered  an  impregnable 
advantage  to  the  flames. 

It  was  here  that  the  Fire  Marshal  understood  that  he 
could  not  stop  the  fire  west  of  the  river. 

It  was  an  appalling  thought,  and  its  dreadful  import  be- 
came more  apparent  when  the  planing  mill  began  sending 
great  brands  upon  the  gale.  The  conflagration  was  now  so 
extensive  as  to  act  upon  the  currents  of  air,  and  spectators 
to  the  leeward  were  in  danger  of  being  sucked  into  the 
flames.  Women,  especially,  were  glad  to  struggle  south- 
ward against  the  wind,  which  made  a  noise  that  drowned  the 
roar  of  the  disaster. 

But  Matthias  Schaffer,  on  the  Court-house,  did  not  under- 
estimate the  present  character  of  his  approaching  foe.  The 
great  bell  rang  out  repeatedly,  and  finally,  as  he  saw  the 
column  rise  up  for  a  moment,  as  the  currents  of  the  tempest 
changed,  he  began  the  constant  tolling  of  his  charge,  that  no 
man  should  sleep  while  the  monster  approached. 

One  of  the  most  frightening  aspects  of  this  red  pillar  of 
fire,  as  seen  from  the  Court-house,  was  its  frequent  inclina- 
tion eastward.  It  might  well  be  compared  with  a  water- 
spout at  sea  or  a  tornado's  funnel  on  land.  The  base 
gyrated  as  if  it  were  held  by  some  power  upward  in  the  dark 
sky.  Sometimes,  to  the  eye  of  the  observer,  it  would  turn 
blacker  than  night,  and  then  the  change  to  brightness  would 
confuse  the  eye.  As  if  resting  in  its  bending  down,  it 
would  again  lie  flat  upon  the  houses,  and  when  it  rose  once 
more  the  conflagration  would  prove  to  have  moved  north- 
ward a  half-dozen  blocks.  The  smoke  and  cinders  now 
rattled  against  the  cupola  on  high,  and  Matthias  Schaffer 
was  a  brave  man  to  stay  up  there  in  the  tempest. 
But  Daniel,  on  Jefferson  street,  could  not  see  this  total  vision. 
lie  could  only  surmise  that  Mrs  Holebroke's  house  was  at 


TIIE  GAS-HOLDER.  185 

the  left  of  the  line  of  progress.  He  hurried  thitherward  up 
Jefferson  street.  On  his  right  the  buildings  grew  somewhat 
sparser.  He  ran  through  the  alley  from  Jefferson  to  Clinton 
— an  alley  that  might  be  called  Tyler  street,  now  Congress, 
and  reached  the  house.  The  servant,  with  her  satchel,  sat  on 
the  steps.  She  was  about  to  flee,  for  the  air  was  dense  with 
smoke. 

But  Chicagoans,  by  a  week's  practice,  were  coming  to  be- 
lieve that  sand  and  smoke  could  be  endured.  Together 
Daniel  and  the  servant  began  removing  the  household  effects 
into  the  open  space  at  the  corner  of  Jefferson  and  Harrison. 
A  man  caught  hold  of  the  piano  with  Daniel.  It  was  Full- 
mer. "  One  good  turn  deserves  another,"  he  said  jocularly. 
They  emptied  the  house  and  stood  in  the  open  place  watch- 
ing the  advance  of  the  flames.  Then  Daniel  bethought  him- 
self of  the  countless  cups  of  jellies  and  jars  of  preserves  that 
Mrs.  Holebroke  and  Mercy  had  boasted  of  having  in  the 
cellar  or  basement.  He  left  Fullmer  and  returned  to  the  house. 
Across  the  alley  a  great  wooden  house  was  burning,  but  the 
wind  was  blowing  for  a  few  moments  furiously  from  the  west- 
The  home  of  Mercy  was  only  lazily  catching  fire. 

"  Foolish  as  it  may  seem."  Daniel  said,  "  I  believe  I  can 
save  this  house.  It's  been  a  good  house  to  me."  And  set- 
ting to  work,  with  a  garden  hose  at  the  hydrant,  he  easily  put 
out  the  fire  on  the  sideboards.  The  roof  did  not  catch  at  all. 
The  house  was  saved. 

It  must  be  understood  that  257  South  Clark  street  stood 
on  the  west  of  the  line  of  the  fire,  and  on  the  west  of  the 
burnt  squares  of  Saturday  night,  now  lying  northward  only 
three  blocks.  Thus,  by  the  pivot  of  this  house,  the  fire 
swooped  to  the  right,  and  its  northward  flight  on  the  West 
Side  was  headed  off  at  Van  Buren  street  by  four  blocks  of 
ashes. 

This  the  Fire  Department  of  Chicago  did  :  It  controlled 
the  fire  of  Saturday  night.  It  protected  Jefferson  street  oa 


186  DANIEL  TRE3  T 1 1  O  A'  Til  Y. 

the  west  until  the  gale  whipped  the  conflagration  over  to  the 
east  side  of  Clinton.  Through  these  two  circumstances 
there  was  a  probable  salvage  to  the  city  of  what  may  be  es- 
timated at  three  hundred  squares,  more  or  less  thickly  built 
upon. 

Daniel  was  already  weary,  but  the  conflagration,  he  felt, 
was  now  nearing  its  end.  He  reassured  the  servant,  and 
hired  boys  and  men  to  carry  back  the  goods  to  the  house. 
His  heart  was  full  of  thanks.  He  took  it  as  a  good  omen. 
The  preserves  had  preserved  not  only  the  house,  but  perhaps 
a  large  portion  of  the  West  Side. 

More  planing  mills  were  now  on  fire,  over  toward  the 
river.  A  hide  tannery  was  also  sending  so  much  bark  into 
the  air  as  to  arrest  the  attention  of  the  West  Siders. 

One  hundred  and  fifty  acres  were  on  fire.  If  one  had 
desired  such  an  exhibition,  what  fuel  would  have  been  more 
to  the  purpose  than  these  dry  cottages,  board  fences,  sheds, 
tan  yards,  planing  mills,  shaving  heaps,  factories,  lumber 
yards  and  wood  depots  ? 

The  tannery  was  especially  effective  in  its  explosions  of 
brands.  Six  great  wains,  filled  with  shavings  for  cow  litters, 
stood  in  a  row  and  gave  off  their  entire  contents  to  the  up- 
per air — a  dreadfully  significant  offering  to  the  genius  of 
destruction. 

What  would  this  gale  demand  of  this  unparalleled  fire  ? 
What  would  this  hurricane  lash  these  150  acres  of  fury  into 
doing  ?  It  was  a  fearful  thought — almost  beyond  thinking, 
for  man  must  have  practical  limits  within  which  to  control 
his  ideas.  There,  ahead,  in  the  ashes  of  Saturday  night, 
stood  the  Nelson  elevator.  Truly,  it  rs  before  this  fire,  but 
why  does  it  turn  red-hot  at  such  a  distance  ?  It  is  the  power 
of  Ate,  before  which  nothing  is  to  stand.  It  is  not  fire.  It 
is  chemistry.  It  is  not  conflagation.  It  is  hot  blast.  It  is 
the  Bessemer  process  of  reducing  cities.  An  elevator,  hun- 
dreds of  feet  away,  turns  into  a  living  coal  150  feet  high.  It 


THE  GAS-HOLDER.  187 

is  iron  and  grain.  It  cannot  blaze.  But  it  may  glow  like 
purest  jasper  and  glitter,  seen  of  all  men. 

But  still,  this  elevator,  before  the  blowpipe,  is  the  only 
point  in  the  direct  fury  of  the  hot  blast.  Surely,  the  river 
will  stop  the  sideward  progress.  The  150  acres  are  all  afire. 
The  westward  and  northward  lines  on  the  West  Side  are 
defined,  and  will  be  Jefferson  and  Adams  in  the  main. 

"  Great  God  !  "  say  men  who  see  the  living  coal  150  feet 
high  and  bulky,  "I'm  glad  nothing  is  near  that  elevator  ! '' 

And  men  who  had  already  been  ruined,  joked  about  hot 
grain,  which  had  that  summer  made  some  noise  on  the  Board 
of  Trade. 

In  just  two  hours  150  acres  of  inflammable  material  had 
succumbed.  Men  looked  into  the  sky  and  saw  such  sights 
as  they  had  not  hoped  to  see.  The  whirlwind  would  wrap  a 
million  sparks  into  a  ball  and  dash  it  into  the  sucking  depths 
of  some  maelstrom. 

"  How  about  those  brands  ?  "  one  man  would  say. 

"Worse  than  that  last  night,"  another  would  answer. 

And  then,  as  the  Court-house  bell  tolled  and  tolled,  there 
rose  a  raft  of  fire — perhaps  a  roof,  perhaps  a  nucleus  of  brands 
braided  by  the  whirlwind — seen  by  T.  Z.  Cowles,  seen  by 
Gustavus  Percy  English — seen  by  ten  thousand  other 
blackened  faces. 

This  great  bat  of  fire  sailed  as  a  bird  of  prey,  with  eye 
intent  on  destruction.  It  did  riot  ride  in  the  blast :  that 
might  have  dashed  it  to  pieces.  It  rotated,  it  fluttered,  it 
caught  the  forward  air  currents,  and  departed  as  a  balloon 
begins  its  voyage.  The  tan-yard  sent  ten  million  out-runners 
in  its  van.  The  planing  mills  saluted  with  salvos  of  brands 
as  the  red  barge  passed  overhead. 

It  crossed  the  river  at  Jackson  street,  nearing  Adams.  It 
was  finishing  its  voyage.  The  sustaining  current  was  di- 
verted, and  the  flat  raft  shot  edgewise  to  the  earth  as  a  card, 
^'"nyc  KV  .^  skillful  MarL  ^eaves  the  air  that  might  oppose  it, 


188  DANIEL  TRENTWOETHY. 

The  hurricane  caught  that  vampire,  and  sent  it  with  out- 
spread wings  against  the  side  of  a  wretched  wooden  house 
next  to  the  gas-holder,  next  to  the  tar  works.  The  whole 
side  was  a  furious  blaze  in  a  moment. 

Thus  began  the  second  chapter  of  the  great  fire. 

Now,  out  on  the  blackness  loomed  the  gas-holder,  a 
monster  basin,  inverted  over  water,  with  the  South  Side's 
store  of  light  for  nights  not  lit  by  Sodom's  fate.  A  gas- 
holder, with  1,500,000  cubic  feet  of  gas,  highly  explosive. 

Could  it  blow  up  ? 

A  gas-holder  in  Cincinnati,  holding  this  same  1,500,000 
feet,  had  exploded,  with  effects  that  had  been  seen  and  felt 
for  ten  miles.  All  men  from  Cincinnati  cried  out.  AH  eyes 
were  fastened  on  the  vast  red  bulk,  hanging  in  a  frame,  its 
pulleys  arid  weights  doing  little  service  now,  the  fullness  of 
gas  holding  the  mountain-like  cup  of  iron  at  its  highest 
poise. 

The  bell  tolled  more  rapidly.  "Drive  everybody  out  of 
Adams  street !  "  yelled  the  great-hearts  of  that  night. 

And  now  the  burning  of  a  city  began  to  unfold  its  terrors 
to  feeble  men  as  they  looked  skyward  at  the  reservoir  of 
added  destruction  that  stood  well  within  the  surrounding 
fires. 

Spectators  afar  off  turned  their  heads  in  fear  and  clapped 
their  hands  upon  their  ears.  Men  near  by  ran  for  their 
lives. 

And  Ate,  high  on  monster's  wing,  looked  upon  the  city 
and  made  noise  as  no  hurricane  and  no  conflagration  had 
yet  cried  out. 


TRANSFIGURATION.  189 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

TRANSFIGURATION. 

MORE  disastrous  than  dim  eclipse  was  the  scene  in  the 
great  streets  of  the  South  Side,  where  million-dollar  struct- 
ures stood  in  colossal  rows.  The  citizen  to  whom  the  knowl- 
edge had  come  that  the  fire  was  crossing  at  East  Adams, 
might  hurry  out  into  the  street.  He  would  meet  scarcely  a 
soul — as  though  all  had  fled  but  him. 

One  may  not  be  so  bold  as  to  imagine  the  light  in  which 
Moses  stood  as  God  passed  by  on  Sinai's  top ;  one  may,  with 
the  same  reverence,  refuse  to  conceive  the  light  of  the  epiph- 
any which  fell  upon  the  beloved  of  men  outside  the  holy  city. 
And  no  one  who  did  not  behold  it  can,  in  his  mind,  illustrate 
the  arch  of  nocturnal  heaven  as  it  was  lit  that  night  by  the 
-torch  of  the  destroying  angel.  The  universe  was  white,  so 
that  no  star  could  shine.  The  hurricane  blew  a  fleecy  vapor 
through  the  sky,  like  a  great  auroral  tumult,  until  one  might 
see  twenty  miles  into  Lake  Michigan.  Cocks  crew  more 
than  thrice  that  night,  and  beasts  arose,  doubtless  marveling 
more  than  men — for  men  had  not  yet  believed  their  own 
senses. 

And  when  a  man  moved  toward  that  gale,  he  must  guard 
his  eyes,  for  pebbles  as  large  as  small  marbles  were  upborne 
in  the  blasts,  and  each  intersection  of  streets  brought  new 
currents  and  added  fury. 

As  Daniel  came  down  Madison  street  ahead  of  the  fire,  and 
as  ten  thousand  people  fled  fearing  the  gas-holder,  a  man 
entered  the  gasworks,  pulled  a  valve,  and  opened  a  sixteen- 
inch  vent-hole  in  the  vast  reservoir.  A  blue  flame  shot  into 
the  zenith,  and  for  a  second  burned  perpendicularly  among 


190  DANIEL  TRENTWORTllY. 

the  auroral  clouds,  in  defiance  of  the  viewless  Niagara  that 
was  sweeping  over  the  city.  Then  gradually  the  great  gas 
flame  bent  down,  as  Matthias  Schaffer  had  seen  the  red  pillar 
bend  at  10  o'clock.  As  the  gale  pressed  it  it  lengthened, 
reaching  over  the  roofs  of  all  the  houses  on  Wells  street — 
across  Monroe,  Madison,  to  Washington,  a  tongue  of  flame 
1,500  feet  long.  This  blaze,  narrow  at  first,  would  grow 
wide  in  its  bed  of  lolling  shingles  and  tar  roofs.  Rising, 
this  whip  of  Ate  would  miss  its  roofs  and  lash  a  street  full 
of  abandoned  women,  just  turned  from  their  orgies  or  their 
sleep,  carrying  feather  beds  and  fleeing  before  the  only 
catastrophe  that  could  make  such  a  lot  worse. 

This  flight  of  the  head  column  of  fire  from  the  gas-holder 
across  the  wooden  roofs  of  Wells  street  to  the  Chamber  of 
Commerce,  on  Washington,  was  the  most  terrifying  spectacle 
in  the  whole  event.  The  passage  was  made  before  the  eyes, 
as  fast  as  the  eye  could  follow  the  current  of  Phlegethon. 

Daniel  had  bethought  him  of  the  newspaper  office  where 
he  had  once  worked,  where  he  had  heard  a  fire  reporter  say 
that  night  that  they  were  preparing  a  great  exposure  for  the 
grand  jury.  Daniel  had  believed,  after  leaving  the  West 
Side,  that  it  would  be  well  to  make  some  explanations  to  his 
friend  the  city  editor  in  question,  go  to  the  Court-house  and 
thence  to  the  Ohio  street  mansion. 

It  was  absolutely  impossible  for  living  witnesses  to  con- 
sider the  destruction  of  Chicago  in  its  entirety.  They  at- 
tended to  the  idea  of  the  hour,  not  to  the  affair  of  the  cen- 
tury. Thus  Daniel,  with  the  gas  Phlegethon  flowing  from 
Adams  to  Washington  on  Fifth  avenue,  turned  not  from  his 
purpose,  but  climbed  the  four  iron  stairways  of  the  daily 
newspaper  office  in  which  as  proof-reader  he  had  spent  so 
many  unhappy  nights.  At  the  top  he  found  men  who  were 
just  grasping  the  affair  in  toto.  The  insurance  was  being 
dropped  and  the  burned  streets  rather  were  going  on  record. 
As  the  fire  reporters  would  reach  the  great  local  room  the 


TRANSFIGURATION.  191 

circle  would  set  to  work  to  guess  whom  the  new-comer  might 
be.  Men  were  so  black  that  they  could  not  be  recognized. 
"  I  am  English,"  "  I  am  Cowles,"  "  1  am  Walker,"  "  I 
am  Meacham,"  would  be  necessary. 

"  My  God  !  did  you  see  English  ?  "  the  city  editor  would 
say  as  he  recalled  the  fiery-eyed  black  man  whose  clothes 
were  tattered  with  smoking  holes,  and  whose  every  move- 
ment betrayed  the  weariness  that  was  left  him  after  the 
sucking  of  that  remorseless  gale.  He  had  been  all  around 
that  fire  !  He  could  not  speak  aloud.  His  voice  sounded 
a  story  below,  down  the  iron  and  the  tile  corridors.  The 
entire  loss  of  the  voice  was  a  phenomenon  of  the  night. 

"  All  sit  here  and  write  whatever  comes  into  your  heads  !  " 
commanded  the  editor,  and  the  only  man  who  had  seen  fell  up- 
on the  floor  and  was  fast  asleep. 

But  what  had  been,  had  been.  There  was  enough  to  come 
and  for  all  to  see.  The  city  editor  was  in  a  fire-proof  building. 
Its  walls  were  of  stone  ;  its  beams  were  of  iron;  its  ceilings 
were  of  corrugated  iron  ;  its  stairways  were  of  iron.  He  was 
safe.  His  paper  would  have  the  only  account  of  the  greatest 
event  since  the  London  fire.  So  he  swore.  And  would 
willingly  have  given  his  life  for  such  a  triumph.  But  his 
men  were  bewildered.  They  ran  around  the  room  in  a  circle. 
They  sat  down  and  wrote  pages.,  of  interjections.  They 
shook  each  other  by  the  hand  and  said  the  fire  would  go  past 
on  LaSalle  street  and  Wells. 

But  back  south  it  was  coming  in  three  columns  and  crawl- 
ing eastward.  Daniel  saw  that  whether  the  building  were 
fire-proof  or  not  it  would  be  surrounded  with  fire.  He  had 
seen  the  grain  elevator  turn  to  a  living  coal  without  giving 
out  a  flame.  He  warned  the  city  editor  to  save  the  library 
and'  files  and  carry  them  south  of  Twelfth  street. 

But  how  could  a  city  editor  who  had  seen  nothing  except 
the  red  wheel  windows  of  the  Chamber  of  Commerce  believe 
that  a  blowpipe  force  was  loose  on  the  city  that  could  smelt 


192  DANIEL  THENTWORTHY. 

solid  squares  of  stone  buildings  as  though  they  were  ore 
pounded  in  charcoal  ? 

"  It  took  the  Drake  Block  nine  hours  to  burn,  a  year  ago," 
he  said.  "  We  must  not  lose  our  heads." 

He  wished  Matthias  Schaffer  would  quit  ringing  that  old 
bell.  It  frighted  the  isle.  And  in  truth  Matthias  Schaffer 
was  just  then  fixing  the  striking  apparatus  preparatory  to 
escape. 

"  Wake  !  wake  !  "  cried  the  brazen  tongue,  ever  faithful 
to  the  city.  For  thousands  were  still  asleep  in  the  third, 
fourth,  fifth,  and  even  sixth  stories  of  the  doomed  buildings 
that  stood  closely  in  the  way  of  the  first  column  of  fire. 

The  little  group  in  that  lofty  place  of  vantage,  gaze  loyally 
on  the  dome  of  the  Court-house.  It  is  the  voice  of  the  city 
to-night — the  only  thing  that  answers  Ate  back.  It  seems 
painted  on  the  inky  outer  regions,  where  peace  reigns  but 
doom  is  writ.  The  side-lights  increase.  The  group  take  to 
trotting  about  the  room,  for  the  nerves  of  men  are  too  fine 
for  spectacular  events  that  make  centuries  ask  questions. 

The  wind,  sixty  miles  an  hour  ;  the  van  of  the  conflagra- 
tion a  legion  of  Siberian  wolves,  noncarnate,  invisible,  in- 
sensate with  fury  that  they  must  lag  behind  the  tempest  and 
tear  asunder  all  they  have  overtaken. 

"  Now,"  cries  a  brave  one,  "Farwell  Hall  is  on  fire  !  " 
That  is  this  side  of  LaSalle  street,  but  two  blocks  due  west. 
On  Forquer  street  that  would  have  meant  fire  in  the  local 
room  in  five  minutes.  There  is,  then,  somewhat  of  difference. 

Like  an  explosion,  the  next  block  northward  gives  up  its 
roofs  to  the  flames.  The  blow-pipe  is  now  on  the  Court- 
house. Will  it  turn  a  living  coal  ? 

It  is  the  climax  of  the  advance.  It  is  the  heart  of  the 
city.  It  is  the  centre  of  all  radii.  In  the  presence  of  saich 
an  expectation  it  was  observed  and  testified  that  all  men  held 
their  breaths,  fixed  their  eyes  upon  the  splendid  dome,  and 
could  hear  no  comrade's  question. 


TRANSFIGURATION.  193 

Wise  and  intelligent  men — ready  to  use  God's  senses  as 
God  would  have  them  !  .But  only  as  He  would  have  them 
for  once  in  5,000  of  His  years  ! 

Did  you  ever  divide  the  time  sharply  between  It  Was  and 
It  Is  ?  On  the  7th  of  August,  1869,  you  stood  at  a  great 
telescope,  watch  in  hand,  and  knew  that  at  ten  minutes  after 
4  o'clock  you  would  see  the  moon  touch  the  sun.  Yes,  some 
power  was  answering  your  expectations.  There  !  was  the 
first  contact. 

You  know  justice  will  be  done  at  12  o'clock.  You  wait 
for  this  same  Court-house  bell.  Your  second-hand  approaches 
the  vertex  of  its  dial.  It  is  there  !  Deep  !  goes  the  bell ! 
The  murderer  drops  to  his  doom. 

There  is  something  in  that  completion  of  expectation  that 
will  ever  startle  the  soul.  The  mother  knows  her  child  is  to 
die.  v  He  dies !  Hear  her  shriek  of  surprise  now  at  the 
event !  Solemn,  solemn — like  this  gazing  for  the  living 
coal ! 

The  blow-pipe  turns  to  smoke.  A  veil  of  blackness  fills 
the  air.  They  shall  not  behold  after  all ! 

'•'Look!  look!  you'll  never  see  it  again!"  cries  a  voice 
hoarse  with  excitement. 

Does  the  whirlwind  throw  the  hideous  mist  aside  or  are 
these  three  domes,  the  two  lesser  and  the  one  greater,  turned 
to  sapphire  and  jasper,  and  seen  through  the  inky  vast  and 
middle  of  the  night  ? 

With  Aurora  waving  her  lanners  of  white  vapors  in  the 
daylight-sky  of  midnight ;  with  Ate  pouring  outer  darkness 
below ;  with  Phlegethon  sweeping  in  like  Niagara — there 
shines  the  fascinating  vision  !  Angels  might  not  tremble 
more  in  gazing  on  the  great  white  throne. 

But  how  long  may.  men  stand  awe  stricken  ?  Witnesses 
said  a  minute,  some  ten  seconds,  surely  not  two  minutes. 
Sublimely  beautiful  it  is — the  skeleton  of  this  dome  on  inky 
sky  with  the  light  of  transfiguration  for  all  the  zenith.  Each 

13 


194  DANIEL  TRMNTWORTHY. 

stanchion  of  exquisite  pearl  ;  each  nail  and  screw  of  blow- 
pipe colors,  for  jewels  ;  the  hurricane  clearing  it  of  the 
smallest  corruscation. 

It  is  too  beautiful  to  see.  Its  half-remembered  vision  may 
fascinate  the  mind  of  puny  man  for  decade  after  decade. 

Crash  !  It  is  over !  The  cupola  is  down.  The  bell  out  on 
the  roof  is  down,  ringing  as  it  goes — clanging  into  far-off 
times. 

We  hear  it  yet.  It  had  pealed  for  Fort  Donelson,  for 
Vicksburg,  for  Gettysburg,  for  Appomattox.  It  had  tolled 
for  Lincoln,  arid  at  each  clamor  of  its  tongue  men  who  looked 
now,  hoping  to  hear  all,  turned  then  and  wept,  hoping  to 
hear  not  at  all.  It  had  rung  all  day  for  the  great  railway. 
It  had  tolled  as  long  for  the  three  firemen  who  went  to  their 
death  when  Daniel  leaped  out  of  the  vortex. 

It  fell,  and  as  it  fell  it  gave  four  great  smothered  clangs, 
such  as  no  man's  right  arm  could  have  brought  forth  from  its 
concentric  echoes.  It  gave  four  great  cries — that  it  had  seen 
and  had  recognized  Ate — that  destruction  had  come  upon  the 
city,  whether  for  her  many  sins,  or  simply  out  of  her  incon- 
ceivable misfortune. 

It  gave,  with  brazen  tongue,  aye,  with  its  whole  sonorous 
house  of  sound,  the  reading  of  the  scroll  that  now  unfolded 
before  those  who  would  hear  and  those  who  would  see. 

The  proudest  and  most  ambitious  city  of  the  western  earth 
must  become  as  ashes  and  cry  in  her  grief  to  the  world.  The 
world  never  heard  such  cry  before.  What  could  it  do  but 
turn  pale,  as  men  did  now  when  they  heard  the  last  and 
loudest  peal,  and  knew  that  Chicago  had  no  voice,  and  saw 
the  pavements  burning  in  gridiron  form,  and  hurricanes  of 
blow-pipe  flame  piercing  alleys  filled  with  smoke,  that  at  once 
set  up  fire ;  wide  sheets  of  flame  flapping  in  the  upper  air 
like  jib-sails  of  some  aerial  Great  Eastern ;  fire  flies  of  black 
tar  paper  spreading  slow  wing  and  bursting  into  incandes- 
cence ;  cornices  of  zinc  purging  amber,  silver,  gold,  crimson, 


lilG  BILL.  19o 

emerald  ;  arabesquerie  of  blow-pipe  energy  playing  upon  the 
facade  of  stone  building,  until  the  gases  within  might  grow 
to  burst  the  edifice. 

Underneath,  in  the  gulf  stream  of  Phlegethon,  fire  of  tar 
and  jeweled  pebbles,  living  with  heat. 

Overhead,  transfiguration^  Sinai. 

In  the  upper  air,  the  auroral  clouds,  the  hurricane,  the 
roar  of  Ate's  car,  the  last  clangor  of  the  bell,  echoing  out- 
ward. 

Men  looked  at  their  watches  and  wondered — for  it  was  to 
be  seen  that  the  watches  went  on,  and  on.  By  that  sign 
alone  it  was  not  doomsday. 

It  was  precisely  twenty  minutes  after  2  o'clock  A.M..  Oct. 
9,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord,  1871. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

BIG  BILL. 

,  while  Phlegethon  went  by,  there  were  not  only  men 
and  women  to  stand  aside,  with  their  little  ones,  but  there 
were  other  breathing  things.  There  were  dogs,  and  cats, 
and  birds,  and  beasts,  and  gamins — newsboys.  And  one  of 
these  was  Big  Bill. 

As  cities  grow  older  there  is  to  be  noticed  a  growth  of 
human  feeling.  A  newsboy  now-a-days  counts  for  more  than 
he  did  in  '71,  small  as  his  total  may  be. 

Exactly  how  Big  Bill  came  into  the  world  must,  like  the 
coming  of  Ate,  forever  remain  a  mystery.  Perhaps  if  the 
wickedness  of  men  had  not  prevailed ;  perhaps  if  rulers  new 
in  office  could  do  what  they  set  out  to  do,  and  forever  fail  to 
do,  then  Big  Bill  would  have  stayed  back  inert. 


196  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

But  he  came  forth,  and  though  those  bipeds  without 
feather,  who  were  already  alive  declared  it  was  monstrous, 
or  at  least  evil,  it  was  very  natural.  It  was  very  like  a  man- 
child.  A  visitor  from  another  world,  organized  on  different 
ideas,  would  have  seen  little  difference  between  Big  Bill  and 
the  new-born  scion  of  the  house  a  mile  eastward  on  Wabash 
avenue. 

Whether  he  had  a  week  or  a  month  of  his  mother's  milk 
matters  little,  for  his  season  at  her  breast  was  as  short  as 
though  she  were  extremely  fashionable.  He  did  two  odd 
things.  He  refused  to  die,  and  he  did  not  set  out  to  grow. 
At  two  years  he  was  an  "  orphan,"  and  lived  because  the 
poor,  who  are  often  noble,  were  cheered  by  his  prattle,  and 
reckoned  him  worth  as  much  as  any  other  pet. 

At  four  he  ventured  as  far  northward  as  the  corner  of  Jeffer- 
son and  Harrison,  and  gazed  in  astonishment  at  Jefferson 
street,  which  there  widened  to  100  feet.  He  was  considerably 
less  than  three  feet  high,  and  on  this  account  made  the 
butchers  whistle.  There  was  a  butcher  in  that  agreeable 
quarter  who  weighed  400  pounds  and  looked  short  in  six  feet 
four  inches  of  stature.  He  was  called  Little  Bill.  This  new- 
comer, being  the  smallest  waif  who  had  ever  arrived  at  the 
corners  in  quest  of  adventures,  was  called  Big  Bill.  The 
human  mind  loves  compensations. 

Man  becomes  of  age  at  twenty-one  years  in  America. 
Horses,  dogs,  rats  and  gamins  vary  between  three  months 
and  five  years.  Big  Bill  started  out  early.  He  was  standing 
at  the  corner  of  Randolph  and  Clark  streets,  in  the  flood  of 
the  main  artery  of  Chicago's  life,  within  a  month  after  he 
came  out  of  the  narrows  of  Jefferson  street  and  scared  the 
butchers. 

Big  Bill's  education  was  not  neglected.  He  was  forced  to 
learn  the  difference  between  the  Evening  Post  and  the 
Evening  Journal.  He  was  presently  compelled  by  some 
occult  process  to  be  able  to  judge  whether  a  paper  were  to- 


BIG  BILL.  197 

night's  or  yesternight's — probably  by  the  degree  of  dampness 
of  the  sheets,  though  the  Jay  Goulds  of  the  gamin  world 
would  often  dampen  old  papers  with  much  foresight  and  fi- 
nancial ability.  When  twenty  boys  slept  in  a  hallway  it  was 
a  matter  of  gravity  that  Big  Bill  should  keep  out  from  under. 
If  it  were  very  cold,  he  must,  of  necessity,  sleep  on  top  the 
ball  of  gamins.  There  is  a  fine  vitality  in  a  heap  of  newsboys 
which  keeps  them  alive  in  a  hallway  with  the  thermometer 
at  35  deg.  below  zero  outside.  A  bickering,  kicking,  vicious 
mass  of  small  humanities,  maybe,  but  wonderfully  fit  to  live, 
wonderfully  apt  to  live. 

It  is  easy  for  a  grown  man,  three  feet  high,  with  a  screech 
like  that  of  Ate — it  is  easy  for  him  to  sell  papers.  Citizens 
carrying  candy  home  to  lumpkins  six  years  old,  the  pride  of 
their  hearts,  beheld  this  stridulous  mite  of  four,  this  locust  of 
sound,  fighting  the  battle  of  life,  and  the  citizen  declaring 
that  it  was  outrageous,  bought  a  paper  and  demanded  full 
change. 

It  was  outrageous.  The  child  of  the  people  has  a  poor 
father.  The  friend  of  the  people  gives  them  a  thin  decoction 
of  friendship. 

It  was  outrageous,  for  this  Big  Bill  had  to  fight  the  battle 
of  life  without  the  advantage  of  bulk.  Whatever  his  littleness 
gained  for  him  his  littleness  lost  for  him.  To  do  business 
required  protection,  sponsorship.  If  he  earned  5  cents,  4 
cents  went  for  services  performed  in  his  behalf.  Either  muscle 
would  rob  him  of  all,  or  protection  would  tax  him  four-fifths. 
And  the  tax  collector  was  far  more  of  a  ferret  than  ever 
worked  on  the  town  assessments. 

One  day  Big  Bill  looking  up  saw  the  Evening  Post  in 
large  letters  on  a  sign.  He  recognized  the  words  because 
they  were  infac  simile  of  the  heading  of  the,  paper.  He 
grasped  the  idea  at  once  that  all  signs  meant  something. 
Coffee  was  10  cents,  instead  of  20,  as  the  tax  collector,  had 
Said.  When  knowledge  pays  that  way  the  signs  in  a  lunch- 
counter  for  newsboys  are  soon  read. 


198  DANIEL  TRENTWORTI1Y. 

Big  Bill  went  out  and  looked  up  Lake  and  Randolph 
streets.  There  were  object-lessons  by  the  thousands.  A 
great  gun  rose  up  five  stories.  He  went  thence.  It  was  a 
gun-store,  of  course,  "  Guns,"  said  the  great  sign,  and  he 
knew  only  the  s.  He  could  not  read  these  signs  as  he  could 
those  in  the  restaurant,  where  the  other  boys  could  be  ap- 
pealed to,  but  he  knew  they  meant  something. 

That  was  all  the  scholars  knew  about  the  Moabite  Stone 
at  first. 

Inconceivable  fountains  of  knowledge  spread  before  him. 
The  Alexandrian  Library  never  gave  scholar  greater  thrills 
of  delight.  In  two  more  years  he  could  read  the  letters. 
He  had  all  such  words  as  had  a  representation  by  picture. 
He  was  reckoned  as  most  learned  among  newsboys.  But  he 
had  to  sleep  at  the  top  of  the  heap  in  cold  weather,  and  was 
always  in  danger  of  the  hottest  place  in  July  nights.  For, 
be  it  known,  a  gamin  was  a  gamin.  If  he  took  to  himself 
certain  hallways  in  winter,  he  would  be  frozen  if  turned  forth. 
But  having  established  a  squatter's  title  by  virtue  of  35  de- 
grees below  zero,  he  must  hold  it.  It  might  be  100  above 
in  that  bedlam  on  a  summer's  night.  There  must  be  no 
hiving  to  new  quarters.  The  policeman  was  on  watch  for 
that.  Gamins,  like  other  small  life,  are  unpleasant  things  to 
get  fastened  on  buildings  or  alleys. 

But  it  is  not  to  be  imagined  that  Big  Bill  had  no  joy  out- 
side his  great  studies,  his  Alexandrian  library.  There  was, 
near  the  main  bayou,  on  Clark  street,  a  very  large  bird  store. 
The  younger  city  seemed  to  need  pets  more  than  does  the 
Chicago  of  to-day.  In  the  show  windows  of  this  place  were 
cages  of  monkeys  from  Africa  and  Brazil,  parrots  of  all 
hues  and  names,  squirrels  that  toiled  like  Sisyphus,  mocking 
birds,  puppies  that  slept  exactly  like  gamins,  but  with  less 
barking,  and'such  reptiles  as  might  catch  the  eye  of  the  bar- 
tender or  maker  of  aquaria. 

God   made  a  portion  of  his  creation  with    wings,   being 


BIG  BILL.  199 

evidently  satisfied  that  there  was  already  enough  overreach- 
ing among  the  remainder.  He  gave  that  winged  portion  his 
permit  to  range  the  air  uncircumscribed  by  the  narrow  bounds 
of  city,  state  or  nation. 

What  shall  be  our  estimate  of  man,  therefore,  if  we  enter 
this  vast  inclosure  and  see  the  space  to  which  he  has  chosen 
to  limit  that  yellow  songster  of  the  Canary  Islands,  whose 
little  throat,  by  unfortunate  chance,  has  happened  to  please 
the  ear  of  him  whom  God  made  to  reach  out  and  grasp  and 
hold?  It  is  custom  to  put  up  the  baseball  of  the  season  as  a 
sacred  packet,  assayed  absolutely  official :  none  genuine  unless 
signed.  Perhaps  man  has  given  the  commercial  canary  a 
cubic  cell  larger  than  this  official  packet,  but  not  four  times 
larger.  It  is  a  space  just  bigger  than  a  man's  clutch. 

The  prisoner  of  the  state  convicted  of  fearful  crimes  may 
at  least  march  in  and  out  of  his  cell,  but  this  wee  yellow-coat- 
ed songster — what  bank  did  he  break  ?  What  house  did  he 
set  on  fire  ?  What  stock  did  he  water  ?  What  railroad  did 
he  wreck?  What  city  did  he  discriminate  against  ?  Thou- 
sands of  these  little  pine  packets,  reaching  to  the  ceiling,  so 
high  the  chirp  of  the  bastile  cellman  comes  down  like  the 
twitter  of  a  swallow  from  an  eave. 

What  a  kindergarten  for  Big  Bill !  How  he  may  delight 
in  the  pandemonium  of  noises  that  buries  some  struggler's 
cries.  And  if,  with  his  sharp  eyes,  Big  Bill  save  some  prison- 
er from  suicide,  then  the  keeper  will  be  glad'to  have  Big  Bill 
about. 

How  rapidly  he  comes  to  know  the  short  chaffinch,  the 
stub-billed  bullfinch,  the  blackbird  with  his  magnificent 
ocellus  and  clearest  of  calls,  the  cross-bill,  the  fallow-finch, 
the  redbird,  robin,  skylark,  thrush,  bobolink,  cuckoo,  weaver, 
fieldfare,  oriole,  wheat-ear,  lark,  mavis,  thistle-bird,  nightin- 
gale, redstart,  ortolan,  redwing,  roller,  swallow,  swift,  titmouse, 
linnet,  goldfinch,  scissortail,  wagtail,  tropic  bird,  the  stubby 
whippoorwill,  the  warbler,  and  a  dozen  kinds  of  humming- 


200  DANIEL  TREXTWOKTHY. 

birds  that  hint  of  the  innumerable  variations  of  this 
species. 

The  little  birds,  the  songsters,  do  not  make  up  the  riot, 
that  is  heard  in  a  great  bird  store.  There  must  be  cockatoos, 
love  birds,  macaws,  birds  of  paradise,  paroquets,  imperial 
parrots,  dragon  birds,  fan-tail  flycatchers,  goat-suckers,  golden 
pheasants,  guineas,  bluejays,  jackdaws,  lories,  woodpeckers, 
queen's  pigeons,  bushshrikes,  trogons,  wrynecks,  hoopoes, 
yellowhammers,  parrots  of  every  length  and  turn  and  color 
of  bill,  every  mode  of  train  and  coiffure,  every  squint  of  eye, 
style  of  oratory. 

There  must  be,  to  give  the  proper  flavor  of  business,  a 
certain  proportion  of  the  small  mammalia — the  lemurs  and 
monkeys;  rabbits,  ferrets,  raccoons  and  opossums.  There  are 
rats,  but  they  are  not  caged. 

This  region  is  one  continuous,  compound,  comminuted  in- 
fraction of  the  harmonies  of  sound.  No  concert  of  parrots  in 
a  submerged  forest  on  the  flooding  Amazon  ever  gave  forth 
an  output  richer  in  discords. 

Big  Bill  at  eight,  knew  the  name  of  every  living  thing  in 
that  ark.  In  the  hurricane  of  noise  he  could  detect  the  cry  of 
a  canary  in  misery  on  the  top  shelf.  He  had  come  into  the 
world  a  natural  child.  He  was  a  born  naturalist. 

A  watchman  one  night  pulled  him.  out  of  the  ball  of 
dormant  gamins  in  the  hall-way  and  asked  him  if  he  wanted 
to  sleep  in  the  bird  store.  Did  he  ?  Did  a  duck  want  to 
swim  ?  When  could  he  do  it  ?  From  Saturday  night  till 
Monday  morning — two  nights  a  week.  He  would  be  locked 
in  at  8  o'clock.  At  4  o'clock  he  would  be  let  out.  The 
store  had  once  been  a  house  for  the  sale  of  furnishing  goods. 
It  had  been  robbed.  The  owner  had  put  iron  bars  at  the  rear 
door  and  windows.  He  had  put  iron  rolling  shutters  at  the 
front  windows  and  an  iron  gate  across  the  doorway. 

Suppose  a  fire  should  come  while  Big  Bill  was  in  there  ? 
Well,  the  watchman  would  let  him  out.  Suppose  a  £re  should 


JUG  KILL.  201 

start  inside  ?  Well,  Big  Bill  had  better  attend  to  that  him- 
self, had  he  not  ? 

To-night  Big  Bill  lay  on  his  pallet  of  straw,  and  the  cries 
of  the  nocturnal  birds  went  on  as  they  always  did.  A  new 
butch  of  lifers  had  arrived  the  night  before,  and  the  hymn  to 
liberty  was  as  earnest  as  the  sounds  of  early  Christians 
worshipping  in  caves.  But  there  joined  to  the  tumult  the 
voice  as  of  some  great  bell-bird  enmeshed  in  the  wickers. 
The  gamin  rolled  over.  "  I  must  save  that  macaw/'  he 
thought  half-waking,  and  dreamed  that  the  boys  were  "  stuck  " 
with  their  papers  ;  that  they  had  held  a  council  and  resolved 
on  a  "  rush  ;  "  that  they  had  determined  on  the  assassination 
of  General  Grant ;  that  they  had  filled  the  alley,  and  made 
the  grand  exit,  howling  as  possessed  with  a  legion  of  devils, 
"Ere 's yer extra 'dition — General  Grant  shot!"  The  gamin 
heard  the  yells  of  the  rushers  and  they  woke  him.  The 
macaws  were  indeed  screaming.  It  was  daylight,  and  they 
wanted  attention.  They  wanted  variation  from  monotony. 
The  gamin  could  not  believe  that  he  would  sleep  past  4 
o'clock  and  miss  his  papers.  That  meant  disgrace  and  star- 
vation. He  had  not  slept  so  long.  The  Court  House  bell 
was  ringing. 

It  was  Sinai,  transfiguration. 

He  ran  to  the  door  and  looked  into  the  heavens.  The  au- 
roral mists  were  flapping  and  careening.  He  could  see  into 
the  heavens,  as  it  were  a  hot  afternoon  in  July.  Danger  was 
in  the  air. 

"  There  is  a  fire  around  here,"  he  thought,  and  rattled  the 
door  for  the  watchman  of  the  block  to  come.  The  light 
increased.  Then  darkness  for  a  moment  filled  the  street.  The 
parrots  screamed  with  delight.  The  quails  gave  forth  their 
"  Bob  White  !"  The  gamin  was  scared. 

A  weird  little  picture,  something  like  that  of  Charlotte 
Corday,  waiting  at  the  bars  for  the  swift  hour  of  beheadal. 
A  little  whitish  face,  with  red  eyelashes,  with  red  hair,  not 


202  DANIEL  TRENTWO11T1IY. 

yet  gray,  that  defied  parting,  pompadour  ;  a  terrified  look  at 
best,  but  a  terrified  countenance  now,  indeed. 

Rattle,  rattle  on  the  door.  The  watchman  gone  to  Jefferson  • 
street  to  save  his  own  home,  and  leaving  Ate  to  unlock  that 
cruel  iron  gate. 

But  sometimes  a  scared  look  may  cover  a  bold  heart.  It 
was  a  big  fire  or  the  Court-house  bell  wouldn't  be  ringing 
all  the  time. 

It  was  in  truth  a  big  fire.  The  whole  Alexandrian  Library 
was  to  be  in  flames. 

The  boy  seized  a  board  and  dashed  out  the  glass  in  the 
door.  He  could  climb  through,  but  it  would  do  no  good.  The 
iron  gates  reached  to  the  top  of  the  entrance.  He  made  no 
further  noise,  but  stopped  a  moment  and  mechanically  studied 
the  gold  letters  on  the  sign  across  the  street.  Then  he  took 
the  long,  rolling  stepladder  and  went  to  the  top  of  the  shelves. 
He  took  each  packet,  and  with  his  knife  cut  out  two  of  the 
wickers.  Then  he  held  the  packet  at  the  door  and  scared 
the  canary  forth.  It  was  a  slow  and  toilsome  thing  to  do. 
The  bell  said  "Run,  Big  Bill!"  But  he  could  not  run.  He 
could  let  the  birds  out,  and  perhaps  some  of  them  might  be 
caught  afterward.  No  man  went  by. 

Now  the  canaries  are  all  gone,  and  the  rarer  birds  must  be 
freed,  for  the  light  is  far  more  vivid  and  the  bell  has  ceased 
to  ring.  This  little  tiring  came  from  Poland.  This  Western 
city  of  Chicago  held  all  the  tribes  of  Christendom.  All  men 
must  have  the  birds  they  saw  at  home.  "  I  can  mount  it  for 
you  if  it  should  die,"  the  bird-seller  would  say,  and  this  would 
close  the  bargain.  This  mavis  had  been  expected  to  cheer 
some  lone  Scotch  heart.  This  redbird  reminded  of  warmer 
suns.  '  This  ortolan  was  as  good  as  the  "  Marsellaise."  Out 
they  went  and  fluttered  through  the  bars. 

Out  went  the  parrots  and  strutted  wisely  down  the  street. 
Out  went  the  ferrets,  and  pounced  upon  the  necks  of  fleeing 
rats.  Out  flew  the  swift  of  wing  and  strutted  nought,  like 
simple  Poll,  looking  so  wise. 


BIG  BILL.  203 

Then  when,  like  captain  on  some  gallant  ship,  the  devoted 
liberator  had  put  forth  the  last  living  thing,  when  even  the 
puppies  crowded  through  the  bars  and  gamboled  toward  Ate, 
he  put  his  face  to  the  window,  gazed  a  moment,  and  clomb 
through.  He  ran  up  the  bars  to  the  top,  as  the  monkeys  had 
done  ere  they  crowded  through.  Small  as  he  was,  it  had 
been  forestalled  that  he  should  not  escape.  Burglars  had 
used  little  catspaws,  too.  The  bars  grew  warm,  the  air  was 
filled  with  fumes.  He  was  nearly  unconscious  ere  he  knew 
his  immediate  danger.  He  clambered  through  the  door  and 
sank  upon  the  front  end  of  the  heap  of  little  prisons  that  he 
had  cut  open.  He  knew  he  was  dying,  and  he  thought 
heaven  must  be  where  Jefferson  street,  reaching  Harrison 
northward,  widened  to  a  hundred  feet.  The  smoke  and 
fumes  grew  denser,  and  a  film  gathered  on  his  eyes. 

Like  a  flash  the  smoke  and  fumes  cleared  out  of  the  street. 
A  man  came  running.  He  pounded  on  the  gate.  "Bill  ! 
Bill !  "  he  cried,  "  climb  out,  and  I'll  pry  the  bars  for  you." 
He  had  a  rod  of  iron,  and  hammered  like  a  blacks'mith. 
"  Can't  you  hear  Dan  ?  It's  Dan  !  Don't  tell  me  I'm  too 
late  !  " 

But  Dan  was  too  late.  Big  Bill  could  see  him,  but  he 
thought  it  was  a  black-faced  copper  shaking  his  club  at  him, 
and  threatening,  if  he  ever  made  another  rush  out  of  the 
alley,  to  pull  de  whole  gang  and  send  'em  to  de  Bridewell  for 
vags. 

The  man  peered  in  on  the  scared  little  face,  "I've  seen  just 
such  a  look,"  he  said,  with  a  shiver. 

The  man  pounded  on  the  gate  in  horror,  and  aroused  only 
Ate.  Down  the  last  block  rolled  the  head  of  column.  The 
man  ran  for  his  life  through  South  Water  street  toward 
Dearborn,  and  the  fire  leaped  the  stream  direct  to  the  North 
Side.  Ate,  peering  through  the  iron  bars,  breathed  upon  the 
dead  and  his  perfect  pyre  and  the  dead  was  as  ashes.  The 
blowpipe  breath  was  on  the  little  corpse.- Even  the  iron  bars 


204  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

ran  out  upon  the  limy  flagstones  and  set  them  merrily  on 
fire. 

Thus  perished  a  child  of  the  people.  Had  he  come  out  of 
the  narrows  of  Jefferson  street  one  generation  the  sooner, 
perhaps,  with  his  red  eyelashes,  red  pompadour  hair  and  gray 
eyes,  he  might  have  sold  city  councils,  established  smelting 
works  and  purchased  respectability. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

ON^    THE    GKAND    STAIRCASE. 

X  Daniel  Trentworthy  came  down  from  that  high 
room .  in  the  daily  newspaper  office,  the  latest  courier  had 
brought  the  news  that  the  Grand  Pacific  Hotel  was  on  fire. 
This  was  the  counterpart  of  the  structure  standing  there  in 
1887.  The  head  of  column  was  cutting  a  narrow  lane  of  de- 
struction from  DeKoven  street  straight  toward  the  water- 
works. This  lane,  at  Randolph  street,  was  hardly  a  block 
wide.  The  side  progress  was  slow  by  comparison.  The 
burning  of  the  Grand  Pacific  was  due  to  the  gradual  widen- 
ing of  this  lane.  At  any  time  after  two  o'clock  Monday 
morning,  if  the  gale  had  turned  directly  eastward,  it  would 
have  cut  off  50,000  people  and  driven  them  into  the  lake. 
But  the  main  hurricane  held  steadily  to  the  north  of  north- 
east. It  was  not  the  forethought  of  the  endangered  people 
who,  like  Daniel,  were  bent  on  seeing  the  fire  while  they 
could,  or  wholly  oblivious  to  the  fate  of  the  city. 

Then  Daniel,  for  the  first  time  began  to  reckon  the  time 
at  his  command.  There  was  the  Sherman  House  already  on 
fire.  Guests  but  a  moment  ago,  as  written  in  their  accounts, 


O.V  THE  GRAND  STAIRCASE.  205 

had  looked  out  of  their  windows  to  see  the  Chamber  of  Com- 
merce wholly  in  flames.  He  could  not  go  to  the  Pacific 
Hotel  with  the  hope  of  getting  back  to  the  North  Side.  He 
hurried  northward: 

When  he  went  up-stairs  he  had  thought  that  all  had  gone 
to  the  fire.  Now  it  was  plain  that  the  people  had  all  been 
asleep.  Such  a  transformation  could  only  be  caused  by  such 
an  emergency.  For  people  were  being  driven  out  of  their 
houses  or  burned  in  their  be&s.  One  hour  before  Dear- 
born and  Clark  streets  had  been  as  still  as  the  grave. 
Now  sidewalk  and  street  were  one  seething,  shouting  mass, 
like  a  crowd  before  a  ticket  wagon  at  a  circus  that  was  to  be 
crowded.  The  desire  of  the  shouters  wa#  generally  to  secure 
a  horse  and  wagon.  But  household  goods  were  piled  in  the 
streets  so  that  no  horse  could  have  passed.  Thousands  of 
families  dwelt  in  the  upper  floors  of  all  the  blocks,  as  eleva- 
tors, except  at  the  hotels,  were  almost  unknown,  and  the  up- 
per floors  could  not  be  rented  for  offices.  The  customary 
spectacle  was  a  woman  with  one  or  two  Saratoga  trunks,  beg- 
ging every  passer-by  to  help  her.  Foreign  women  all  car- 
ried feather-beds.  A  long  file  of  Swedish  immigrants,  just 
in,  marched  stupidly  up  Madison  street  toward  Phlegethon. 
Hysterical  women  would  gather  in  parties  and  walk  down 
the  streets  chanting  together  "  What  shall  we  do  !  What 
shall  we  do  !"  Following  them  would  pass  a  drunken  pha- 
lanx of  men,  just  up  from  the  dives  of  Jackson  street,  sing- 
ing "  Johnny,  fill  up  the  bowl !  " 

Plunder  and  pillage  seemed  to  go  on  ahead  of  the  column. 
At  its  sides  there  was  very  little,  and  that  mostly  due  to 
drunkenness.  In  front  of  Phlegethon  whoever  broke  in  and 
carried  off  was  safe.  The  owner  himself  had  little  objec- 
tion. Perhaps  something  might  be  brought  back.  He 
would  ask  the  pillagers  to  remember  him,  although  it  would 
be  difficult  to  see  how  they  could  do  so. 

At  the  sides  of  the  lane,  however,  there  was  plenty  of  time 


206  DANIEL  TRENT\\'ORT11Y. 

for  a  removal  of   goods,  if  means  had  been  at  hand.     Two 
men  would  mount  a  barrel: 

"  I  will  give  $50  for  an  express  wagon  that  will  take  four 
trunks  to  Twelfth  street." 

An  expressman  rattles  past,  too  excited  to  stop  for  $50. 

"  I  will  give  $250  for  ten  minutes'  work !  "  yells  the  other 
bidder. 

The  expressman  stops.       •» 

"Come  in  here,  boys,"  says  the  jeweler  to  the  rowdies, 
mostly  petty  thieves,  just  let  out  of  the  Court-house  base- 
ment. 

He  rushes  into  his  store.  He  hands  tray  after  tray  from 
the  safe.  The  thieves  obediently  carry  them  toward  the  ex- 
press wagon.  As  they  stand  rich-laden  around  the  express 
wagon,  awaiting  further  orders,  there  is  a  terrific  rush  down 
the  street. 

"What's  the  matter  ?"  screams  the  expressman. 

"They've  got  the  Smith  &  Nixon  building  filled  with  pow- 
der to  blow  it  up  !  " 

The  Smith  &  Nixon  building  is  two  blocks  away,  but  that 
expressman  is  four  blocks  away. 

What  could  the  good  thieves  do  but  run  also  ? 

Fifteen  minutes  later  the  side  fires  had  swept  the  place 
clean.  From  the  eastward  view  but  two  buildings  on  the 
South  Side  made  an  imposing  spectacle — the  Court-house 
and  the  Grand  Pacific  Hotel.  The  blow-pipe  action  kept  the 
Court  *House  free  of  smoke.  It  burned  as  no  picture  ever 
portrays  a  fire.  The  big  hotel  burned  as  the  conventional 
picture  would  have  one  believe.  It  was  surrounded  by  small 
buildings,  and  was  a  side  fire,  without  the  blow-pipe  process. 
But  under  the  blow-pipe,  in  the  continuous  blocks,  wall  after 
wall  went  down  so  fast,  and  sent  such  dense  volumes  of 
smoke  and  cinders  into  the  air  that  were  no  tableaux.  Five 
minutes  are  not  enough  for  a  spectacular  fire.  Instantaneous 
destruction,  as  developed  at  Chicago,  was  monstrous — like 


ON  THE  GRAND  STAIRCASE.  207 

the  Pit,  hateful,  sulphurous,  cinderous,  choking.  It  made 
all  men  who  looked  into  Phlegethon  from  its  banks  look  very 
like  imps  themselves. 

After  the  Court-house  had  ceased  to  shine,  a  living  coal, 
men  had  a  desire  to  go  away.  The  smell  that  Belial,  Zainiel, 
'xSatan,  Mammon  leave  was  proved  to  be  unpleasant  to  the 
nostrils  of  the  most  confirmed  sight-seers. 

Two  black  men  drove  up  to  the  Second  National  Bank. 
One  was  really  a  colored  expressman.  The  other  was  Tink- 
ham,  officer  of  the  bank.  Together  they  carried  a  trunk  to 
the  wagon.  The  expressman  was  told  to  drive  on  slowly, 
and  get  to  the  Milwaukee  depot,  on  the  West  Side.  Tink- 
ham  lost  sight  of  the  expressman,  failed  to  get  a  direct  route 
to  the  depot,  reached  there  after  perilous  adventures,  and 
found  the  expressman  with  the  trunk.  There  were  $600,000 
in  that  receptacle,  and  it  was  the  largest  salvage  recorded  of 
the  night.  The  money  was  carried  to  Milwaukee  and  depos- 
ited in  Marshall  &  Illsley's  Bank,  and  the  expressman  was 
paid  $1,000. 

A  man,  half  naked,  dropped  from  window  to  window  on 
Dearborn  street,  at  the  northeast  corner  of  Madison,  in  the 
rear.  He  made  a  noble  effort  to  save  himself,  but  was  fatally 
hurt  in  his  last  leap  to  earth.  A  lady  burned  to  death  in 
the  sight  of  many  opposite  the  Drake  block,  where  Mary  and 
Daniel  had  stood. 

Daniel  noticed  the  continuous  shivering  of  horses.  Finally 
he  became  convinced  it  was  caused  by  the  presence  of  sparks 
and  heated  particles  of  mineral.  Cats  ran  up  telegraph 
poles.  The  noise  in  the  wires  at  the  Western  Union  build- 
ing was  frightful.  The  eyes  of  the  rats  were  noticeable  for 
their  brilliancy.  Doubtless  many  of  these  rodents  had  run 
ahead  of  the  fire  for  long  distances.  Birds  circled  at  the 
edge  of  the  flames. 

To  all  who  were  eastward  of  the  main  column  the  air  was 
very  hard  to  breathe.  The  dust  was  malignant.  But  up  to 


208  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHT. 

this  hour  of  about  3  o'clock  A.  M.,  few  people  who  were 
awake  were  burned.  Doubtless  the  loss  of  life  among  un- 
known "  roomers "  was  large,  but  it  was  never  officially 
known. 

As  Daniel  Inirried  northward  he  thought  of  Big  Bill  for 
the  first  time.  The  newsboy  had  told  him  of  the  bird  store 
and  Daniel  went  westward  on  Lake  and  down  Cla'rk  street,  in 
the  very  teeth  of  the  main  fire.  He  had  but  a  moment  after 
getting  there  to  see  the  boy's  danger  and  grasp  a  cross-rod 
from  a  heap  of  street-rail  plant.  It  was  too  late.  A  moment 
more  and  Daniel,  standing  there  between  two  blasts  of  red-hot 
vapor,  would  have  been  a-fire.  The  bridge  was  not  pass- 
able. He  fled  down  South  Water  to  State  street  and  crossed 
sidewise  with  the  conflagration. 

All  along  South  Water  street,  north  and  south  of  the  line  of 
fire,  men  were  bringing  out  barrels  of  whisky  and  knocking 
in  the  heads.  The  roysterers  would  drink  out  of  hats.  The 
gutters  of  South  Water  street,  therefore,  took  fire  all  at  once, 
and  the  advance  of  the  fire  widened  greatly  as  it  leaped  the 
main  bayou. 

At  about  this  hour  of  4  o'clock  began  those  ever-memor- 
able movements  of  two  caravans — one  south  by  the  avenues, 
the  other  west  by  the  Randolph  street  bridge.  Patience, 
stolidity,  fatigue  were  written  on  every  black  face.  Great 
suffering  at  the  eyes  was  manifest.  Children  made  low  com- 
plaints. Fugitives  were  steadied  in  nerve  as  they  saw  the 
vast  crowds  of  mere  sight-seers  who  seemed  to  have  nothing 
to  lose  and  no  one  to  save. 

Strange  comment  on  our  humanity  and  our  subdivision  of 
duty,  when  thousands  needed  succor  and  tens  of  thousands 
gaped  on  with  no  twinges  of  diity  ! 

Daniel  now  hurried  toward  Ohio  street,  and,  like  countless 
others,  accused  himself  of  base  forgetfulness  of  Mercy  and  his 
sick  friends.  Still,  was  he  to  blame  for  failing  to  compass 
the  whole  calamity  ?  Are  cities  burned  so  often  that  young 


ON  THE  GRAND  STAIRCASE.  209 

men  ought  to  say :     "  This  is  the  destruction  of  a  city  ! "  or, 
"  This  is  only  an  unparalleled  fire  !  " 

He  ran  now,  und  worried.  Why  had  he  not  brought  a 
wagon  ?  Then  he  laughed,  to  think  he  had  forgotten  that 
Errington  had  stables.  Yet  he  did  not  laugh  when  he  re- 
membered that  he  had  given  the  ex-agent  nearly  all  his  money 
and  the  helpers  at  Clinton  street  the  rest.  As  he  had  under- 
estimated the  fire  before,  so  now  he  went  to  the  other  ex- 
treme. The  city  was  doomed.  There  would  not  be  a  house 
left.  Even  the  Clinton  street  home  would  catch  from  back- 
fires. Why  had  he  been  so  thoughtless  ?  Chicago  was  to 
perish.  Who  could  believe  it  would  rise  again? 

Who  could  look  into  that  blood-red  Chicago  River,  who 
could  listen  to  the  running  word  that  thousands  had  been 
smothered  in  the  LaSalle  street  tunnel,  who  could  look 
along  those  red  sky  lines,  those  miles  of  black  cornices  with 
crimson  behind  them  :  who  could  look  ba*ck  to  DeKoven 
street,  seing  that  awful  lake  of  fire  and  sulphurous  eddies — 
who  could  do  this  without  panic,  if,  in  the  light  of  a  De- 
Koven street  fire,  he  had  left  anything  undone  which,  in  the 
light  of  a  city's  destruction,  might  have  been  done  ?  The 
light  thrown  by  a  city  is  too  strong  for  any  man's  duty. 

The  poor  expressman,  with  one  horse,  would  come  down 
into  the  South  Side  and  faint  at  the  thought  of  his  power- 
lessness. 

Daniel  now  neared  the  mansion.  Carriages  were  at  the 
front,  and  a  group  of  people,  with  two  women  weeping,  ap- 
proached, bearing  a  body  on  a  board. 

Daniel  could  not  believe  his  senses.  He  ran  through  the 
gate.  The  people  did  not  know  him.  But  he  knew  them. 

"  My  God  !  Fullmer,  what  is  that  ?  "  He  seized  Fullmer's 
shoulder.  The  printer  was  superintending  the  removal. 

"  It's  Harmon's  body." 

Mercy  recognized  Daniel's  voice.  She  threw  herself  on 
his  neck. 

14 


210  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

"  Oh  !"  she  wept,  "  I  thought  I  should  die  without  you." 

The  old  lady  needed  his  comfortings  as  well.  Truly,  it 
was  hard.  Fullmer  had  attended  to  the  getting  out  of  the 
horses.  The  servants  were  away  at  the  conflagration,  and 
perhaps  already  cut  off  from  home. 

"  Fullmer,  how  can  we  ever  repay  you  ?  God  bless 
you!" 

"  I'll  attend  to  these  folks  if  you  think  that  you  and  Mrs. 
Errington  can  bring  the  sick  man,"  answered  Fullmer. 

"  Where  shall  we  go  ?  asked  Mercy. 

"  Go  right  out  State  street,  to  Mrs.  Trenton's,"  answered 
Daniel,  "  I  will  follow  you  in  the  next  carriage." 

Fullmer  had  shown  great  ability  in  managing  this  affair. 
Harmon's  bod}7  had  been  wrapped  in  a  rug  and  bound  to  a 
common  shutter,  or  window-blind.  It  was  possible  to  put  it 
endwise  beside  the  driver.  Fullmer  mounted  the  box. 

Daniel  kissed  both  Mercy  and  her  mother.  The  great 
black  eyes  pleaded  to  stay  with  him.  Verily,  a  woman  will 
leave  all  else  that  is  dear  to  her  and  cjeave  to  the  stranger 
whom  she  loves. 

"My  own  love,"  she  said,  "must  I  lose  you,  just  as  I  have 
found  you?  I  knew  you  would  come."  She  gazed  on  him  as 
if  he  were  a  hero  for  getting  there  an  hour  later  than  the 
printer,  who  had  come  to  make  his  peace.  Daniel  winced. 
He  felt  ashamed.  He  wanted  to  throw  himself  about  Full- 
mer's  neck.  He  thirsted  to  do  something  signally  brave. 

"  Go  on,  now,  Mercy.  Be  brave  as  you  are  good.  Drive 
fast,  Fullmer.  Take  care  of  them^  Fullmer,  631  Fullerton 
avenue." 

And  the  carriage  went  around  the  corner.  The  D  rands  began 
dropping  from  the  trees,  and  the  trees  shone  as  though  birds 
wherever  any  two  boughs  might  start  from  a  main  stem  had 
made  nests  of  gold.  The  horses  at  the  other  carriage  shiv- 
ered and  were  uneasy.  They  wanted  to  be  off  after  the  other 
party.  They  had  been  hitched  oddly,  by  a  strange  hand. 


ON  THE  GRAND  STAIRCASE.  211 

Something  was  wrong.  A  horse  is  as  nervous  as  a  woman — 
and  very  intelligent. 

Daniel  turned  the  great  brass  lever  of  the  door.  The  pon- 
derous oak  panel  flew  open  and  nearly  threw  him  down.  The 
gale  was  at  its  height.  He  fought  a  battle  with  that  door. 
The  gas  burned  in  long  blue,  sightless  lines,  and  the  drap- 
eries were  torn  like  the  sails  of  a  ship  in  a  squall.  Hot  with 
his  encounter,  with  horror,  sorrow,  shame,  and  nearly  every 
other  emotion,  the  young  man  looked  up  the  grand  stair- 
case. 

Mary  stood  there.  The  lights  regained  their  brilliancy. 
She  was  attired  in  a  cashmere  wrapper  of  a  fashionable  color, 
just  then  known  as  ashes  of  Paris.  Its  long  train  was  at  her 
side,  and  covered  several  of  the  steps  before  and  below  her. 
Her  face,  at  first  lit  with  expectancy  and  pleasure,  was  now 
clouded  with  inquiry. 

A  man  had  entered  the  door  and  had  with  difficulty  closed 
it  after  several  futile  attempts.  His  face  was  black,  his  eyes 
were  red,  his  clothes  were  burned  full  of  small  holes. 

"  Who  is  that  ?  "  asked  the  gray  woman,  sharply. 

The  man  came  on  up  the  stairs.  Something  in  his  walk 
reassured  her,  and  she  looked  again.  Her  face  began  to 
clear. 

"  It  is  I— Daniel/'  he  said. 

"  Oh  !  my  beloved  !  I  knew  you  would  come  !  I  knew  you 
would  come  ! " 

He  did  not  blame  her  for  throwing  herself  upon  him.  It 
was  truly  a  terrible  night.  He  knew  now  what  it  was  to 
have  been  at  Pompeii.  N 

She  clung  to  her  loved  one  with  a  joy  she  had  not  lately 
dared  to  hope  for. 

"  Be  brave,  Mary.  You're  naturally  brave.  I  saw  it  that 
night  on  the  bridge." 

It  would  be  wise  to  cheer  her,  for  it  was  very  bad  outside 
over  here  in  the  North  Division. 


212  DANIEL  TRENTWOETHY. 

"  Wasn't  I  brave,  Daniel  ?  Wasn't  I  patient  ?  But  he's 
dead  now  !  " 

Yes,  Harmon  was  dead  now.  Daniel  had  forgotten  that 
Mary,  too,  was  Harmon's  sister.  The  gray  woman  nestled  to 
his  hreast.  She  was  far  too  happy  to  live.  She  looked  shyly 
up  at  his  face.  She  was  still  so  afraid  of  her  master,  who  held 
*her  life  in  his  very  look.  She  could  not  see  his  true  coun- 
tenance. When  one's  face  is  blackened  there  is  only  a  blank 
stare. 

"  1  am  all  yours  now,"  she  whispered  sweetly.  "  He's 
dead  !  He's  in  there  !  "  She  pointed  to  her  own  apartments. 

If  Mary  Errington  had  been  adder,  aspic,  cobra,  moccasin, 
Daniel  Trentworthy  could  not  have  cast  her  from  him  more 
swiftly. 

"  Ralph  Errington  dead,  too  ?  "  His  voice  left  him  for  the 
moment. 

"  He's  dead,  Daniel,  and  I'm  yours.  You  cannot  leave 
me  !  Love  is  eternal,  and  I  know  that  you  love  me  !  There's 
no  one  between  us  !  " 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

"  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE,    SAITH  THE  LORD." 

THE  gray  woman  stood  crouching  and  peering  into  Dan- 
iel's countenance.  She  could  not  read  that  blackened  face. 
She  was  too  furious  with  triumph  and  hope  to  receive  ocular 
impressions  at  best.  The  young  man  clutched  at  the  railing 
with  one  hand  and  with  the  other  made  gestures  of  horror. 
Beyond  that  slight  gray  figure  he  saw  the  gibbet  rise.  He 
saw  a  man  and  a  woman  dangling  from  it — a  poisoner  and 
her  paramour — and  he  saw  a  pair  of  great  black  eyes  peering 
toward  the  expiation,  and  wondering  if  truth  and  fidelity 


"VENGEANCE  IS  MINE,  SAITH  THE  LORD."      213 

were  indeed  dead  in  the  world.  His  voice  would  not  respond 
to  his  will. 

"  I  then  consent/'  his  soul  cried  out.  He  made  a  convul- 
sive effort  to  speak.  The  word  came  up  his  throat  and  fell, 
as  he  was  falling,  into  the  grave  under  the  gibbet.  "I  con- 
sent !  By  silence  I  consent  !  "  moaned  his  spirit. 

How  else  could  the  woman  in  gray,  filled  with  love  and 
triumph,  conceive  his  silence  ? 

"  You'll  forgive  me,  my  own,"  she  said,  approaching  him 
again.  She  was  anxious  to  kiss  him.  In  a  moment  she  would 
be  in  his  arms  once  more  !  It  gave  him  supreme  effort.  His 
will  telegraphed  to  every  station  of  his  body  and  once  more 
there  was  response.  It  was  self-preservation.  The  paralysis 
of  terror  was  past. 

"  Monster  !  "  he  cried. 

"  I  care  not  what  you  call  it !  "  she  responded.  How  well 
he  looked  !  And  how  good  !  She  loved  him  all  the  better 
because  he  had  bowed  to  her  whim  and  renounced  her  to 
Errington. 

"  Monster  !  Monster ! "  he  repeated,  finding  that  his  tongue 
no  longer  cleaved  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth. 

"  Daniel,  it  was  necessary,"  she  said  ;  "  I  did  not  know  the 
power  of  love  when  I  deserted  you.  Have  I  not  paid  well  for 
my  folly  ?  Have  I  not  suffered  a  million  tortures  where  I 
caused  one  to  you  ?  Take  me,  Daniel ;  I  am  yours.  You 
never  can  go  away  from  me  now.  No  other  woman  can  get 
you  now." 

His  voice  came  back.  He  had  some  things  to  say  if  he 
hoped  to  escape  that  gibbet  ! 

"  Mary — poor  Mary  !  "  he  began.  And  then  the  extent  of 
her  crime  came  on  him.  He  commenced  again  : 

"Mary  Errington,  I  did  love  you.  That  is  true,  even 
though  it  should  cost  me  my  life  to  admit  it.  You  could 
have  made  me  commit  murder  then.  But,"  he  said  hoarsely 
— he  gulped  it,  fearing  his  voice  would  forsake  him  ere  he 


214  DANIEL  TRENT  WORTHY. 

could  forswear  his  crime — "  But  you  cannot  make  me  commit 
murder  now!  You  killed  Ralph  Errington  !  " 

"Yes,  I  killed  him." 

Her  snaky  eye  responded  to  the  graceful  swaying  of  her 
lithe  form,  made  strangely  serpentine  by  that  soft  gray  fabric, 
its  gray  laces,  and  its  long  train. 

"  You  killed  him,  and  you  ought  to  be  punished  for  it ! " 

My  God,  how  could  she  be  punished  ?  She  was  Mercy's 
sister.  He  cursed  the  star  that  had  guided  him  toward  this 
gray  poisoner.  "  I  must  be  essentially  bad,"  he  thought  as 
he  sank  back  in  terror  of  the  law. 

For  the  law  is  more  dreadful  than  Ate.  Let  him  who  has 
been  in  front  of  both  Ate  and  the  law  bear  witness. 

Daniel  had  come  to  get  Errington  and  Mary  both.  Instead 
of  a  wife  and  her  sick  husband,  he  approached  a  poisoner,  a 
corpse,  and  a  gibbet.  A  chimney  blew  off  the  roof,  with  a 
crash  that  echoed  through  the  great  hall. 

She  was  gazing  on  him  with  a  poisoner's  affection.  "  I 
have  been  punished,"  she  said  sweetly.  "  You  love  me, 
Daniel.  I  knew  you  would  be  alarmed.  But  there  is  no 
danger.  He  knew  what  killed  him,  and  blessed  me  as  he 
died.  'Mamie,'  he  said,  often  to-night,  'I  lost  my  life  by 
my  stubbornness.'  Call  me  Mamie,  Daniel.  I  did  it  all  for 
you.  No  one  knows  it.  No  one  can  know  it.  We  are  safe  !  " 

"  We  are  safe  !  "  It  echoed  in  his  terrified  brain,  and  again 
the  two  bodies  dangled  on  the  gibbet,  and  the  black  eyes 
asked  of  God  and  of  man. 

"  Was  I  not  brave  and  far-seeing  ?  I  sent  for  the  greatest 
physician  in  this  city.  I  told  him  I  knew  what  it  was,  in 
spite  of  three  doctors.  I  said  antimony.  They  said  cholera 
morbus.  The  physician  in  consultation  said  antimony.  It 
was  antimony,  dear." 

She  was  a  monomaniac,  without  doubt.  Her  occupation 
was  gone.  She  put  her  hand  to  her  side  as  if  to  draw  a  vial 
from  her  pocket.  •••  .  . 


"VENGEANCE  18  MINE,  SA2TH  THE  LORD."      215 

"  I  hate  you  !  "  he  cried.  "  I  am  not  your  paramour. 
Everybody  knows  you  killed  him.  Everybody  shall  know  it. 
Mercy  knows  it !  " 

"  Mercy  knows  it  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  told  her  FriHay  night." 

"  Why  did  3-011  tell  her,  Daniel." 

"Because  I  love  her  and  am  going  to  marry  her." 

Nothing  else  would  have  turned  that  woman  from  her 
hope.  Denials  of  his  love  would  have  passed  as  nothing. 
But  that  he  should  love  another  woman ! — it  is  the  fear  of 
womankind.  It  is  the  one  crime  a  man  can  commit  against 
the  woman  who  loves  him  to  distraction. 

"Are  you  sure  you  really  love  Mercy,  and  are  not 
attracted  by  her  pretty  face  ?  "  She  hissed  her  doubt  that  a 
second  love  were  love  at  all. 

"  I  have  loved  Mercy  ever  since  the  day  you  were  married," 
he  said.  "  Thank  God  for  it !  " 

"I  wish  I  could  have  believed  it,"  sne  said,   significantly. 

"  I'm  thankful  you  couldn't,"  he  said.  "  You  would  have 
killed  her,  too." 

"I  would  have  killed  you  sooner,"  she  cried. 

"I  have  been  a  poor,  stupid  fool,  all  the  time," — as  he 
saw  the  tigress  in  her. 

"  Yes,  you  have  been  as  much  to  blame  as  I.  I  think  they 
will  hold  us  both.  Then,"  she  said  tenderly  once  more,  "  I 
know  your  love  would  come  back.  Oh  !  Daniel,  love  me  ! 
You  did  love  me  ! " 

A  glass  crashed.  He  nad  thrown  the  woman  off  with  each 
advance.  He  had  not  known  what  to  do.  Another  glass 
crashed.  A  smell  as  of  fire  pervaded  the  house. 

"The  city  is  burning !  "  he  said. 

"  I  am  glad  of  it  !  "  she  cried. 

He  took  a  few  steps  down  the  stairs.  He  determined  to 
leave  her.  She  turned  to  hatred. 

"  Coward ! "  she  said,  "  you  would  forsake  me." 


216  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY . 

"  The  city  is  burning,"  he   replied. 

Her  affection  for  the  dead — her  habit — was  all  there  was 
left  to  her. 

"  Help  me  to  save  him  !  "  she  appealed. 

The  glasses  crashed.  The  hall « filled  with  smoke.  He 
could  no  longer  see  her. 

"  It  is  the  body  of  the  crime,"  he  answered.  "  It  is  well 
that  it  should  be  destroyed." 

"I'll  save  it,  you  wretch  !"  cried  the  scorned  woman.  "It 
shall  show  your  crime  as  well  as  mine  !  " 

Her  courage  was  superb.  She  entered  the  chamber  of 
death  grimly,  gladly. 

There  lay  the  dead — hair  reddish  gray,  pompadour,  scared 
back  ;  eyelashes  red,  visible,  conspicuous ;  face  pale.  One 
might  have  thought  it  were  a  vision  looking  through  the 
bars  at  him  who  lay  on  the  pyre  of  bird-packets,  except  there 
were  leeches  at  the  neck,  sucking  the  dead. 

A  man,  so  pushed  for  time,  would  have  taken  the  body  at 
once. 

She  seized  a  sheet  and  laid  it  over  the  body.  A  leech 
clung  to  her  hand,  feeling  it  to  be  warm.  She  rolled  the 
body  once  over  in  the  sheet  and  dragged  her  load  to  the 
floor. 

Another  chimney  fell,  and  a  flame  peered  into  the  room 
through  the  grate.  The  air  was  hot.  It  was  no  longer 
atmospheric  air.  One-tenth  of  it  was  carbonic  acid  and  sul- 
phuric gasos.  The  medium  which  she  now  breathed  was  a 
fatal  poison. 

For  one  is  poisoned  truly  and  chemically  when  one  is  suf- 
focated. It  is  precisely  as  if  the  potion  were  sedulously  in- 
troduced in  one's  food.  It  is  as  if  one  carried  a  vial  and  fed 
it  to  the  victim  at  every  opportunity. 

So,  now,  this  murderess  was  each  moment  swallowing 
doses  of  poison.  Their  action  on  her  vitals  was  more  rapid 
than  had  been  the  action  on  Errington's  body,  and  it  would 


1  She  thought  she  saw  an  Ogre  standing  over  her."      Page  217. 


"VENGEANCE  IS  MINE,  SAITH  THE  LOKD."      217 

be  called  a  different  death,  but  it  was  one  and  the  same 
thing.  She  held  her  breath,  feeling  the  cutting  of  the  gas. 
She  labored  along  the  floor  to  the  door. 

"  Help  !  help  !  "  she  screamed,  but  held  to  the  corpse. 

She  gathered  the  Scared  Look  under  her  right  arm.  She 
clutched  at  a  bronze  lucifer.  She  opened  her  mouth  to 
breathe.  The  inspiration  was  vile  with  poison.  It  sickened 
and  hurt  her.  Her  brain  reeled.  She  recalled  the  last  look 
of  terror  as  her  victim  had  .striven  to  put  back  the  philtre 
she  had  drawn  from  her  pocket  in  plain  sight  and  forced  into 
his  throat.  She  thought  she  saw  an  ogre  standing  above 
her,  and  saying :  "Open  your  mouth!  It  might  better  be 
over  soon  !"  She  thought  she  felt  a  determined  clutch  upon 
her  breast,  a  finger  forced  between  her  jaws,  and  she  was 
too  weak  to  even  bite  that  finger. 

She  let  go  her  precious  load.  She  forgot  her  victim.  She 
forgot  Daniel.  She  clasped  her  jaws  to  hold  them  shut 
against  the  ogre.  Oh  !  how  the  poison  tore  her  lungs  !  How 
burned  the  fires  in  her  vitals  ! 

"  Help  !  help  !  "  she  screamed.  How  pitiless  was  this 
poisoner  who  told  her  that  she  must  take  the  liquid  fire ! 

"  Oh  !  Mamie  !  Mamie  !  my  God  !  Mamie  !  "  she-  mur- 
mured, and,  murmuring  so,  opened  her  lips  and  drank  of  the 
thick  and  heavy  air. 

It  was  Ate  holding  the  chalice  to  Mary's  lips.  And  yet  it 
was  withal  a  more  merciful  cup  than  that  out  of  which 
Ralph  Errington  had  drunk  for  a  long  year.  It  was  the 
same  potation,  but  there  were  longer  and  more  potent 
draughts. 

She  fell  forward.  Her  lithe  body  found  no  resting  place 
until  it  had  reached  the  foot  of  the  great  staircase. 

The  air  became  better.  The  shock  aroused  her.  She 
did  not  want  to  die.  Although  she  burned  alive  within, 
thore  might  yet  be  hope.  Besides,  it  might  be  a  coma. 
Then  she  would  awake  in  the  midst  of  true  flames.  A  hor- 


218  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

rible  picture  of  Servetus  at  tlie  stake,  seen  in  her  youth, 
came  on  her  view. 

The  bronze  goblin  on  the  newel-post  glowered  down  upon 
her.  She  looked  up  once  more  for  mercy,  but  the  air  grew 
denser.  The  goblin  poured  from  that  same  little  vial,  and 
prepared  to  make  her  open  her  lips  for  the  last  time. 

"Help!  help!"  was  her  final  scream.  "Oh,  please, 
Mamie  !"  she  implored,  and  opened  her  mouth,  and  drank 
the  hemlock  of  penance  and  lustration. 

The  back  part  of  the  house  tumbled  down  and  let  the  car 
of  Ate  by.  The  back-fires  rolled  toward  the  front  of  the 
house. 

Daniel  had  left  the  door  open  for  the  escape  of  Mary.  He 
ran  down  to  the  gate.  The  carriage  was  gone.  Whether  it 
had  be«n  driven  or  had  run  away,  it  was  time  for  it  to  go, 
and  it  had  gone. 

He  looked  back  toward  that  grand  entrance.  He  saw  a 
gray  woman ;  under  her  arm  there  came  the  Body  of  the 
Crime.  The  smoke  rolled  away,  and  he  beheld  the  smallest 
details — the  leeches  clinging  to  her  hand. 

He  heard  her  scream — "Help!  help!"  He  saw  her  fall. 
He  saw  her  body  roll  slowly,  stage  by  stage,  down  the  stair- 
case. She  was  probably  dead,  for  well  he  knew  the  mortal 
character  of  that  yellow  smoke,  and  how  swiftly  it  did  its 
corrosive  work. 

Better  that  she  should  die,  for  justice  would  then  be  done. 
Better  the  guilty  should  pass  away  than  that  he,  the  inno- 
cent, should  perish  on  the  gibbet.  He  would  peer  in  at  her. 
Better  that  she  perish.  Perish  she  must  by  God  or  by  man. 

"  Help  !  help  !  "  came  from  the  gray  form  underneath  the 
goblin. 

It  was  Mercy's  sister  who  called.  It  was  a  fellow-being. 
It  was  a  soul  he  had  loved.  It  was  a  nature  that  even  now 
he  held  in  awe.  What  man,  who  had  been  a  fireman,  could 
havestayedback  ?  He  would  save  her.  She  might  put  him 


LOST.  219 

on  the  gallows,  as  she*  surely  would.  Might  God  guide  him  ! 
he  prayed,  as  he  made  his  renunciation  of  Mercy,  and  rushed 
into  that  yellow  smoke,  hoping  it  might  also  asphyxiate 
him. 

But  his  was  a  practiced  hand.  One  is  not  a  fireman  for 
nothing.  He  grasped  that  lithe  body.  He  crawled  back  to 
the  steps,  down  the  steps  and  into  sustaining  air,  and  was 
not  hurt. 

"  God  help  me !  "  he  implored,  as  the  gibbet  rose  before 
him ;  "  I  could  not  murder  her  as  she  murdered  Ralph/' 

He  carried  her  to  the  side  gate  and  looked  into  her  face. 

He  had  trusted  in  God  and  done  right,  as  God  gave  him  to 
see  it.  Mary  Errington  would  never  betray  him  as  Judas 
had  sold  his  master.  Mary  Errington  would  never  proclaim 
him  to  be  her  paramour  and  coparcener  in  murder. 

Her  soul  had  joined  the  three  hundred  that  were  journey- 
ing towards  Ate's  manger. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

LOST. 

IF  the  reader  has  preserved  the  idea  of  Daniel's  sheet  of 
note-paper  as  a  plan  of  the  city  of  Chicago,  it  will  be  remem- 
bered that  no  effort  was  made  to  show  the  exact  course  of 
the  north  branch  of  the  river.  But  we  have  clipped  the 
upper  right  half  of  the  sheet — the  lake  shore — say  an  inch 
at  the  top  and  zero  at  the  mouth  of  the  main  river,  or  north 
pier.  Now,  if  the  straight  line,  standing  for  the  north 
branch,  be  turned  so  it  shall  run  parallel  with  that  veering 
lake  shore,  we  shall  have  both  river  and  shore  running 
twenty  degrees  west  of  north.- 


220  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

Phlegethon,  the  river  of  "blow-pipe  fire,  began  at  a,  stable 
on  the  first  mile-ring  around  the  Court-house.  Phlegethon 
was  to  reach  the  lake  at  this  same  mile-ring,  on  the  opposite 
side.  And  what  was  to  be  its  goal  ? 

The  water-works  of  Chicago. 

This  was  the  true  calamity,  namely :  A  blow-pipe  of 
flame,  of  greater  power  than  men  had  believed  to  be  attain- 
able in  open-air  conflagration,  had  risen  at  a  stable  on  the 
alley  between  De  Koven  and  Taylor  streets  at  8:45  p.  M.  At 
3:20  A.  M.,  or  in  six  hours  and  thirty-five  minutes,  it  had 
cut  a  narrow  pathway  in  a  straight  line  for  a  distance  of 
two  miles — by  the  measurers  said  to  be  two  miles  and  1,252 
feet.  Engines  stationed  at  the  sides  of  this  rapids  of  flame — 
enough  engines — could  have  stopped  the  rest  of  the  fire. 
Nothing  could  have  coped  with  that  direct  blow-pipe  force, 
that  blew  a  building  red-hot  before  a  flame  need  appear. 

When  Phlegethon  had  been  cut  from  De  Koven  street  to 
the  water  works,  there  remained,  besides  the  general  north- 
ward progress,  the  fires  of  retrogression  to  burn  leisurely 
backward.  There  also  tarried  a  detail  of  the  original  onset 
at  the  Lake  Shore  depot,  between  Van  Buren  and  Polk 
streets,  on  the  South  Side.  Two  long  freight  houses  spread 
out  and  protected  the  whole  eastward  region  until  about  8 
o'clock  in  the  morning  of  Monday. 

There  was  now  to  be  no  more  water,  and  there  remained 
untouched  the  entire  North  Side  of  1,440  acres,  and  seven- 
eighths  of  the  South  Side,  north  of  Harrison  street.  The 
true  and  phenomenal  fire  was  over.  In  its  stead  were  a  thou- 
sand furies,  any  one  of  them  terrible  enough. 

When,  therefore,  Daniel  came  out  upon  Pine  street,  to  flee 
northward,  in  Mercy's  wake,  hoping  to  reach  Fullerton 
avenue,  he  must  needs  find  Phlegethon  rolling  beyond  him 
and  across  his  path.  What  he  had  warned  the  city  editor 
would  happen,  had  happened.  The  city  was  cut  off.  Un- 
doubtedly the  fire  had  also  come  across  further  southward, 


LOST.  221 

and  fully  50,000  people  had  been  caught  at  the  lake  shore. 
So  he  supposed. 

It  was  with  a  heart  bursting  with  disappointment  that  this 
sturdy  young  lover,  a  moment  before  so  fortunate  in  his 
escape  from  betrayal  and  ignominy,  now  turned  toward  the 
lake  shore.  He  was  not  alone  in  that  awful  hour.  Many  a 
heart  was  sustained  by  the  presence  of  the  host  of  fellow- 
sufferers.  They  looked  at  this  young  man,  bearing  a  lady  of 
refinement. 

"  She's  fainted.  Papa,  help  that  young  man,"  a  little  girl 
would  cry. 

But  Daniel  would  tell  all  friendly  men  to  carry  all  they 
could  of  their  own.  He  was  strong.  It  was  not  yet  time  for 
him  to  be  sleepy.  His  nocturnal  hours  of  watching  lately 
had  made  him  a  fit  spectator  of  the  besom  that  swept  air  and 
earth. 

Then,  as  they  entered  the  sands,  a  thief  took  Mary's  hand. 
Daniel  knocked  that  thief  down,  and  he  was  kicked  by  an- 
other strong  man.  There  was  much  glee.  Then  Daniel 
took  a  diamond  ring  from  her  finger  and  started  to  slip  off  a 
plain  gold  band  from  the  third  finger  of  her  left  hand. 

"  Let  them  steal  it.  I  cannot  take  it  off."  The  ring  re- 
mained. What  God  had  joined  together  no  man  should  put 
asunder. 

He  carried  that  light  body  and  thought  of  the  evil  it  could 
have  done  him.  He  thought  of  the  nights  and  days  of  suf- 
fering it  had  caused  him,  and  for  all  those  hours  of  grief  he 
loved  it  none  the  less.  Yet  he  thought  of  that  dread  scene 
on  the  grand  staircase,  and  the  feeling  that  it  was  a  poison- 
ous serpent,  made  him  shiver  and  grow  faint-hearted.  How 
fortunate  that  God  had  made  his  most  terrible  creatures  with 
small  knowledge  of  the  havoc  they  might  do !  She  had 
loved  him.  However  frightening  that  love  might  be,  it  had 
come  out  of  her  heart.  Yes,  he  would  save  her  poor  clay 
and  forgive  her  sins  against  him. 


222  DANIEL  TLIENTWORTIIY. 

What  an  endless  number  of  unfortunates  had  been  penned 
in  these  hot  and  whirling  sands  !  The  rich  and  the  poor, 
the  good  and  the  bad,  the  kind  and  the  cruel,  labored  along, 
judging  as  to  the  coolest  place,  where  all  was  to  become  un- 
endurable, and  making  countless  journeys  with  precious 
heirlooms,  with  family  pets,  and  witli  helpless  invalids. 

A  young  girl  staggered  under  a  heavy  load.  The  roughs 
came  along  and  took  the  best  of  her  belongings — a  handsome 
clock  and  its  case. 

"  Is  it  any  wonder  Chicago  is  burning  ?  "  she  moaned,  an 
actual  believer  in  the  dogma  that  the  modern  Sodom  was 
getting  judgment  down  from  Heaven.  One  who  had  seen 
Phlegethon  roll  by  was  justified  in  such  thoughts. 

Heavy  wagons,  driven  by  half-crazed,  liquorous  express- 
men, came  rapidly  but  silently  across  the  sands,  seeking  the 
points  nearest  the  water.  Over  the  little  mounds  of  goods 
these  juggernauts  would  go.  The  sand  would  blow  rapidly 
over  a  heap  of  furniture.  A  child  would  be  seeking  shelter 
on  the  windward  side. 

"  Oh  !  my  God  !  they've  killed  my  boy  !  They've  killed 
him  ! " 

Surely  enough,  a  wagon  had  run  over  a  child  almost  before 
its  mother's  eyes.  Of  what  use  to  follow  the  wretches  and 
demand  of  them  more  care  ? 

Will  not  the  gunners  tell  you  who  saved  their  battery  at 
Chickamauga,  that  when  Thomas,  the  Rock,  ordered  them  to 
save  their  guns,  after  they  had  protected  the  retreat  of  their 
army,  they  drove  away  under  whip,  and  if  the  wounded 
Union  soldier  could  not  crawl  from  before  the  juggernaut, 
the  gunners  must  shut  their  eyes  and  swear  all  the  louder  at 
the  Johnnies  ? 

An  old  lady  lay  on  her  mattress,  fatigued  beyond  care  for 
the  hour.  The  brands  fell  faster  and  larger.  The  heat  grew 
insufferable.  All  the  surrounding  heaps  of  goods  were  moved 
along,  everyone  supposing  that  all  other  fugitives  were  doing 


LOST.  223 

the  same  thing.  Suddenly  the  flames  broke  out  in  the  mat- 
tress, and  the  old  lady  was  burned  to  death  in  sight  of  hun- 
dreds. It  was  the  dance  of  death.  Perhaps  a  party  had  just 
left  a  boarding  house  a  half  hour  before.  So  far  they  had 
lost  little,  and  desired  to  sustain  themselves  by  good  spirits. 
Such  a  sight  would  leave  two  in  a  faint,  and  the  rest  would 
turn  around  and  look  at  the  burning  city. 

At  the  distance  of  half  a  mile  a  line  of  fire  a  mile  long  is 
broader  than  the  eye  can  cover.  It  is  an  endless  sea  of  flames. 
A  city  on  fire,  therefore,  is  like  a  battle.  No  one  observer 
can  see  the  vision  unless  he  be  at  least  ten  miles  away,  on  a 
high  place. 

Nobody  saw  the  Chicago  fire. 

But  Daniel  saw  Lake  Michigan,  -and  never  shall  mortal 
gaze  on  sight  more  truly  appalling.  The  hour  of  dawn, 
without  its  phenomena;  an  unearthly  light  above  and  be- 
hind ;  an  unending  expanse  of  inky  and  rolling  waters,  cov- 
ered by  millions  of  floating  objects — debris  of  all  kinds,  tak- 
ing every  imaginable  color  as  their  wet  surfaces  reflected  the 
changing  lights  of  the  conflagration ;  millions  of  brands  and 
sparks  falling  into  the  deep  waves,  each  with  a  low  hiss,  but 
together  with  the  dreariest  of  sounds.  If  man  may  look  upon 
the  true  symbol  of  death  and  eternity  Daniel  saw  it  that 
morning.  Children  viewed  these  dark  waters  of  Lethe  with 
horror.  They  fought  a  losing  day  against  the  sparks  that 
fell  so  unremittingly  on  heads  and  shoulders. 

Another  wagon  came  along.  "  Here's  a  man  with  a  body,'' 
they  said,  and  drew  up,  hailing  Daniel. 

"  Say,  old  man,  we'll  take  on  that  body  for  $50." 

Daniel  had  not  a  penny.  They  drove  on.  It  was  useless 
for  them  to  talk  to  a  man  without  currency.  A  man  might 
have  money  in  bank.  They  laughed  at  that.  Money  was 
what  talked  there  and  then. 

Daniel  did  not  see  how  the  wagoners  could  aid  him  much. 
In  his  opinion,  rogues  and  honest  men  were  all  like  rats  in  a 


224  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

trap.  They  were  surrounded  by  fire.  Far  to  the  south  he 
could  see  a  pier  extending  into  the  \vatev.  People  were  out 
there.  Between  himself  and  the  pier  the  sands  narrowed, 
and  shanties  and  lumber  piles  soon  to  burn  came  very  close 
to  the  water.  He  felt  that  he  must  wait  until  those  shanties 
burned  before  he  could  hope  to  get  past  to  the  pier.  There 
he  saw  boats  coming  and  going.  The  sight  cheered  him. 
There  would,  then,  be  no  holocaust,  after  all,  as  he  Jiad 
feared.  He  who  had  so  often  scolded  at  the  boats  and 
bridges  blessed  them  well. 

The  fire  pressed  toward  them.  Houses  that  had,  but  a 
moment  ago,  seemed  far  awaj1,  now  burned  with  long  flames 
that  threw  their  heat  to  the  gale  and  made  the  clouds  of 
sand  burning  hot.  TVhat  would  the  nearer  fires  do  that  were 
to  come  ?  People  who  had  gone  toward  the  shanties  returned 
northward,  crying  that  everybody  would  be  burned.  Pile 
after  pile  of  goods  caught  fire  amidst  the  protestations  of  the 
people  that  it  Avas  carelessness,  and  should  be  stopped  for 
the  general  good.  Boys  on  horses,  sitting  higher  than  the 
rest,  found  the  air  too  close  to  breathe,  and  drove  slowly  out 
into  the  water.  The  fires  approached.  All  must  follow  the 
boys  on  the  horses.  The  children  who  had  cried  at  the  heat 
and  the  sparks  now  moaned  piteously  as  they  went  out  into 
Lethe. 

Then  Daniel  with  his  dead,  now  black  and  irrecognizable, 
her  fine  dress  spotted  with  sooty  holes,  her  gray  laces 
singed  and  made  harsh,  put  forth  into  the  deep.  The  heat 
increased  as  it  was  reflected  from  the  water.  A  woman  with 
three  children  was  at  his  right,  ten  feet  away.  There  was 
the  greatest  fear  of  crowding  from  behind,  but  all  were  assured 
by  boys  resident  there  about  that  the  decline  was  very  gradual. 

There  was  no  relief  to  be  had  until  the  children  were  nearly 
off  their  feet.  The  wind  was  terrific.  There  was  a  tendency 
to  scatter,  for  each  feared  the  next  wader  would  lose  presence 
of  mind  and  cling  frantically  to  a  neighbor.  The  waves  were 


LOST.  225 

high  although  so  near  the  shore.  Daniel  was  in  a  sitting  post- 
ure, with  the  body  of  Mary  across  his  knees.  The  waves  would 
often  throw  him  off  his  balance,  and  he  found  that  his  burden 
was  rather  an  advantage  than  otherwise.  He  had  no  thought 
of  personal  danger,  but  he  did  look  with  amazement  into  the 
future. 

He  sat  patiently,  bathing  his  face  and  head  in  the  water, 
which  now  had  lost  its  horrid  look  to  him,  and  wondered 
where  Mercy  was.  Where  would  she  go  when  the  fire  reached 
her  ?  How  bitterly  he  regretted  that  lost  hour  in  that  local 
room — that  spectacle  of  the  shining  dome.  The  little  scared 
face  at  the  grated  door  rose  up  before  him.  The  lost  fortune 
of  the  great  landlord  came  next  upon  him.  His  own  little 
house  on  Washington  street,  by  this  time  well  on  fire;  the 
death  of  Harmon,  friend  of  his  youth — Daniel  wept ;  the 
death  of  Errington — ah !  yes,  the  colloquy  on  the  staircase  ; 
the  escape  from  the  gibbet ;  the  corpse  of  Mary — 

'{My!"  he  whispered,  and  looked  at  Chicago  in  its  de- 
struction; "I  must  quit  all  that,  or  I  shall  be  a  raving 
maniac.  It  is  more  than  God  intended  a  human  being  to 
see  in  one  day  !" 

"I'm  sorry  for  that  young  husband,"  a  good  wife  said  to 
her  partner  in  life.  "  It's  dreadful,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"It  isn't  as  dreadful,  my  dear,  as  that  childbirth  down 
there,"  the  husband  would  respond. 

Verily  every  heart  knoweth  its  own  bitterness. 
•  "  Help  !     Help  !     Oh,  save  my  boy  !     Oh,  save  my  boy  ! " 
There  was  a  commotion  in  Lethe  not  made  by  the  gale. 

The  mother  to  Daniel's  right  was  holding  to  two  of  her 
restless  sons.  The  third  was  drifting  out  to  sea.  How  fast 
the  wind  blew  him,  as  he  blubbered,  touched  bottom,  kicked 
viciously,  and  urged  his  outward  pace. 

It  was  Daniel's  place  to  save  that  lubber,  and  Daniel  must 
be  quick.  The  people  to  his  left  had  kept  as  far  away  as 
possible.  It  is  not  human  nature  to  court  the  presence  of 

15 


226  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHT. 

the  dead  iu  the  face  of  danger.  There  was  no  one  to  aid 
Daniel.  He  gave  a  spring,  pursued  the  boy,  waded,  swam, 
dove,  and  finally  reached  him.  The  lad  was  well  strangled, 
but  able  to  get  his  breath.  The  host  set  up  a  gabble  over 
the  event  and  a  man  offered  to  take  care  of  one  of  the  lads. 
Other  mothers  became  more  alarmed  than  ever,  and  other 
lads  set  out  to  see  how  near  drowning  they  could  come. 

But  Daniel,  having  saved  the  lubber  was  raging  with 
auger  at  the  event.  The  body  of  Mary  could  not  be  found. 
He  searched  there  hour  after  hour. 

"  Oh  !  see  the  sun  !  "  cried  somebody. 

Surely  enough,  it  was  8  o'clock.  The  sun  was  two  hours 
high,  and  no  one  had  known  it  was  morning. 

There  was  no  morning  in  Chicago,  Oct.  9,  1871.  It  did 
not  grow  light.  It  grew  rather  darker  at  dawn. 

The  children  complained  of  hunger  and  fear.  The  city 
burned  on — a  gray,  dusty,  occasionally  a  deep  red — on  high, 
black  smoke,  with  some  formations  like  thunder-clouds.  A 
vast  repulsive  spectacle. 

The  shanties  and  lumber-piles  disappeared,  the  heat 
decreased,  the  piles  of  goods  turned  to  ashes  and  blew  away, 
and  the  people  began  to  go  out  on  the  sands. 

Alone,  out  in  Lethe,  Daniel  searched  for  the  body  of  her 
he  had  loved,  of  her  he  had  hated,  of  her  he  loved  now 
again.  He  shed  bitter  tears  that  she  had  died.  He  forgot 
Merc}7,  life,  Chicago,  everything,  hoping  that  he  might  find 
the  trust  that  had  been  put  into  his  hands.  To  keep  that  trust 
he  had  turned  aside  from  a  thousand  imploring  appeals  for 
aid ;  to  keep  a  faithful  guard  he  had  stood  aside  and  let  hun- 
dreds of  sacred  relics  perish.  He  could  not  save  Chicago, 
but  he  could  save  Mary,  for  her  mother,  for  Mercy — for 
himself. 

Now  he  had  not  saved  Mary  !  Great  tears  ran  down  his 
face.  There  was  plenteous  pity  for  him  among  that  band 
of  unfortunates. 


THE  FOIST  XIGI1T.  227 

"  It  will  come  to  shore  when  the  wind  changes,"  they 
cheered  him,  for  they  knew  he  had  lost  the  body  in  saving 
the  lubber.  They  had  seen  his  jealous  vigil.  They  had 
seen  his  long  battle  with  the  sparks  in  the  laces,  before  the 
going  down  into  Lethe. 

"  It  will  come  ashore,"  they  said. 

How  that  word  "  It "  grates  on  our  ears,  when  first  the 
stranger  enters  our  doors  and  addresses  the  term  to  our  own 
precious  dead ! 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE  FIRST  NIGHT. 

How  inconceivably  lonely  did  Daniel  feel  as  he  came  up 
out  of  Lethe,  and  bade  good-bye  to  that  light  body  which  he 
had  again  learned  to  love !  It  was  out  there  somewhere, 
but  not  to  be  seen  by  mortal  eyes.  All  now  was  dust  and 
ashes.  The  glory  of  the  conflagration  was  gone,  never  to 
return,  and  for  that  might  God  be  thanked  !  In  place  of 
auroral  clouds  and  Ate's  car,  there  were  pestilential  smells 
and  pest  itself — for  was  he  not  on  the  very  Golgotha  of  the 
city,  the  region  of  the  small-pox  hospital  ?  Such  were  the 
alarms  of  the  fugitives,  choking  with  smoke,  weary  nigh  to 
death,  hungry  almost  to  desperation. 

Again  he  fixed  his  eye  on  the  pier  to  the  south  and  deter- 
mined to  reach  it.  To  the  northward  a  brewery's  ruins  held 
the  flames  close  to  shore,  and  shut  him  away  from  Mercy. 
He  scanned  the  crowd  northward,  unconsciously  looking  for 
Mercy. 

"  Heavens  !  "  he  shuddered,  "  how  will  they  be  fed  ?  " 
For  manna  could  not  be  expected  to  fall  from  heaven,  and 


228  DANIEL  TRENT  WORTHY. 

they  could  not  eat  ashes.  Watching  his  opportunity  in  a 
freak  of  the  gale,  he  ran  around  through  the  narrow  place, 
and  was  now  on  his  way  to  the  pier.  It  was  a  structure  of 
piling  and  timbers  filled  with  rubble-stone.  He  got  to  its 
end,  and  was  safe,  but  just  as  a  tug  had  steamed  away  with 
a  load  of  refugees.  The  man  with  the  trunk  at  the  depot  in 
which  were  $600,000  had  barely  enough  money  to  pay  his 
fare. 

The  strain  left  Daniel's  mind  for  the  moment.  Odd  and 
ludicrous  scenes  came  before  him.  A  philosopher  sat  on  the 
pier.  "  My  son,"  said  he  to  a  boy,  "  hand  me  that  fiddle. 
I've  got  a  bigger  fire  than  Nero  had."  And  people  clamber- 
ing over  those  jagged  stones  were  badgered  to  dance  the 
sailor's  hornpipe,  which  this  musician  was  playing. 

"  It's  for  a  record,"  he  said,  "  Chicago  is  at  the  front. 
Give  her  a  chance,  and  she  will  beat  Rome." 

What  was  there  in  men  that  rather  tempted  them  to  hope 
the  fire  would  clear  up  every  house  and  outdo  history  ? 

They  did  not  seem  to  know  that  history  already  stood  with 
no  example  to  offer  to  Chicago. 

There  rose  at  Daniel's  left  an  enormous  elevator.  Its 
duplicate  had  just  burned  in  mountains  of  thick  smoke, 
which  had  kept  him  to  the  northward.  It  seemed  that  this 
one  was  to  stand.  He  would  wait  an  hour  and  see.  An 
hour  passed  and  he  went  ashore  and  sought  (he  pier  next  the 
river.  There  he  found  a  sailor  in  a  yawl.  Daniel  told  that 
sailor  he  was  out  of  money,  and  the  sailor  took  him  across 
the  narrow  water  without  cost.  It  was  the  only  man  Daniel 
had  met  who  was  not  playing  the  Chicago  fire  for  all  it  was 
worth. 

Four  steamers  stood  a  mile  out  in  the  lake  awaiting  events. 
Daniel  clambered  on  the  outer  breakwater,  and  soon  was 
south  of  the  slips,  elevator,  and  depot  walls  of  the  Michigan 
Central  and  the  Illinois  Central  Railroads. 

Here,    spread  before  his    eyes,  was  doubtless  one  of   the 


THE  FIRST  NIGHT.  229 

saddest  spectacles  the  sun,  now  of  a  droughty  brightness 
had  ever  shone  upon.  At  that  day  what  is  now  Lake  Front 
Park  was  partly  water.  It  was  called  the  Basin.  There 
were  but  two  tracks  for  the  railroads,  and  they  ran  on  tres- 
tles, twenty  feet  inside  the  breakwater.  But  there  was  still 
a  very  wide  space  between  the  building  line  of  Michigan 
avenue  and  the  water,  and  that  wide  space  was  a  mile  long. 

Into  this  place  of  refuge  had  gone  nearly  every  ousted 
householder  who  had  been  at  the  east  of  Phlegethou  on  the 
South  Side.  It  must  be  remembered  that  the  fire  started  as 
far  south  as  Twelfth  street,  lacking  a  block.  If  it  came  over 
as  it  was  expected  to  do,  it  would  burn  all  to  the  west  of  the 
Lake  Front  Park.  But  it  was  the  apparent  judgment  of  the 
host  that  it  would  be  idle  to  attempt  to  secure  a  safer  place. 
To  go  south  was  to  run  the  risk  of  being  driven  into 
the  lake  where  there  was  little  shore.  The  dust  blew  in 
steady  streams,  and  it  was  the  general  method  of  the  day  for 
parties  hailing  from  the  same  quarter  to  pile  a  number  of 
trunks  in  a  line,  three  trunks  in  height,  and  strive  to  form 
a  cover  with  woolen  blankets  on  the  northeast  side  of  the 
trunks,  which  would  protect  the  weaker  members  of  the 
party  from  the  rigors  of  the  sandy,  smoky  sirocco.  At  the 
extreme  northern  end  of  the  open  space,  where  the  side-fires, 
pouncing  on  the  second  Drake  block,  had  burned  it  in  twenty 
minutes,  many  of  these  heaps  of  goods  had  been  burned. 
Two  charred  bodies  lay  on  a  set  of  bent  and  twisted  spiral 
bed  springs. 

There  was  a  great  but  silent  panic  in  this  park.  A  change 
of  the  wind  to  the  eastward  meant  death  for  nearly  every- 
body, and  at  the  time  of  the  fire  in  the  northern  end,  every 
one  supposed  this  change  must  have  come. 

Daniel  came  upon  the  city  editor,  guarding  a  row  of  trunks 
and  a  number  of  members  of  his  hoiisehold. 

"Dan,"  said  the  editor,  "both  my  house  and  the  office 
were  safe  this  morning  at  8  o'clock,  The  fire  burned  ex- 


230  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

actly  around  west  and  north  of  the  office.  It  was  as  I  said. 
We  could  have  printed  the  whole  edition." 

"  How  is  it  now  ?  "  asked  Daniel,  looking  toward  Madi- 
son street. 

"  House  and  office  both  gone  !  "  said  the  editor.  "  How 
that  sand  hlows  !  "  and  he  crawled  under  his  blanket. 

All  that  morning  had  gone  the  innumerable  caravan  down 
Michigan  avenue.  Whence  came  so  many  two-horse  trucks  ? 
None  were  going  north.  The  sun  shone  down  clearly  through 
all  the  smoke,  which  bore  out  to  sea  rapidly  in  a  thick  vapor. 
Down  that  wide  street,  teams  four  abreast,  passed  the  sack 
of  the  city.  Here  would  be  a  long  slanting-bodied  wagon  with 
high  stakes  on  every  side.  Piled  like  a  load  of  furniture,  or 
even  hay,  would  be  rolls  of  the  costliest  fabrics.  Crimson, 
yellow,  green  and  blue  silks  would  flash  back  the  sun,  and 
whole  pieces  of  royal  purple  velvet  would  tumble  loosely  off 
the  top,  to  be  instantly  trampled  under  foot  by  the  next 
teams.  This  unexampled  caravan  was  carrying  the  salvage 
of  the  great  dry  goods  houses  of  Farwell  &  Co.  and  Field  & 
Leiter. 

Along  this  gorgeous  way  would  come  an  express  wagon 
with  three  or  four  j^oung  men  and  their  trunks.  Such 
a  vehicle  would  strive  to  go  past  the  big  wagons.  Men 
dragging  buggies  in  which  were  trunks  would  oppose  in- 
superable barriers  to  rapid  transit  by  horses.  The  express- 
man would  travel  on  two  wheels  for  a  block,  whipping  his 
horse  madly  ail  the  while.  Finally,  over  he  would  go,  and  a 
half  dozen  trunks  would  tumble  around  the  heads  of  the 
men-oxen.  Nothing  ever  stopped  that  caravan  It  went  on 
and  on,  over  wrecks,  over  everything,  silent,  orderly,  swiftly, 
beautiful.  It  grew  shorter  as  its  base  of  communications 
burned  southward,  but  it  did  not  stop.  A  city's  riches  are 
not  to  be  carried  away  in  a  day,  by  wheel,  over  one  turnpike. 

No  one  who  saw  it  will  ever  forget  the  feeling  of  awe  which 
it  inspired.  As  silently  as  Joseph  and  the  blessed  Mary 


THE  FIRST  NIGHT.  231 

went  down  into  Egypt  to  escape  Herod,  so  now  Chicago  put 
forth  into  the  desert  to  hide  from  Ate. 

Neither  will  any  refugee,  who,  with  his  all,  was  penned  in 
that  park  beside  Michigan  avenue  for  an  afternoon,  forget 
the  asperities  of  that  chapter  of  waiting  and  watching.  The 
wide  avenue  had  been  paved  years  before  with  soft  limestone 
macadam.  This  limestone  had  worn  off,  powdered,  and  the 
long  drought  and  the  tremendous  heat  of  the  fire  at  the  north 
end  had  made  this  powder  about  two  inches  thick,  had  it  been 
on  the  ground.  It  was  not  on  the  ground.  It  was.  in  the  air 
— every  particle  of  it.  It  was  necessary,  if  one  peered  above 
the  row  of  trunks,  to  bandage  one's  eyes,  and  many  were  the 
wretches  who  ran  backward  and  forward  from  the  water,  fairly 
maddened  with  the  burning  effects  of  that  white  dust. 

The  churches  were  now  burning  along  Wabash  avenue, 
and,  as  there  was  no  water,  there  was  no  reason  why  the  fire 
should  not  work  southward,  especially  as  the  wind  was  get- 
ting to  the  west.  There  were  noises,  as  of  cannon,  and  Dan- 
iel crossed  at  Congress  street,  and  found  General  Sheridan 
on  hand  in  that  region  and  devoting  his  resources  to  the 
destruction  of  the  blocks  of  the  houses  that  promised  to  leave 
the  longest  gaps  before  the  lazily-retrogressing  flames.  The 
large  Methodist  Church  at  the  northwest  corner  of  Harrison 
street  and  Wasbash  avenue  was  thus  prepared  for  sacrifice, 
when  it  was  seen  that  it  would  oppose  the  conflagration 
better  by  its  side  walls.  This  it  did.  Several  other  large 
sacred  edifices,  near  together,  had  done  much  to  tire  out  the 
fire,  to  delay  its  retogression,  and  thus  to  diminish  its  fury. 

What  a  blessed  sight  it  was  to  see  a  fire  smouldering,  and 
the  next  house  not  on  fire  !  "  Thank  God  for  churches  ! " 
cried  Daniel,  as  he  saw  the  vigil  in  the  park  ending,  and 
people  moving  back  into  the  houses  south  of  Congress  and 
Harrison  streets. 

It  was  growing  dusk.  The  awful  Event  was  again  light- 
ing up.  The  city  editor  came  back,  as  express  wagons  were 


232  DANIEL  TRENT\YORTUY. 

plentier  now.  He  was  to  stay  with  a  relative  near  by,  who 
had  so  far  escaped. 

What  a  night  was  before  Chicago  !  The  first  night  after 
the  event  of  centuries  !  Close,  is  it  not  reader  ?  Well,  those 
Chicagoans  knew  it.  They  knew  they  had  lived  through  the 
spectacle  of  all  history  thus  far.  They  were  its  unwilling 
witnesses.  It  is  said  that  to  be  great  is  to  be  lonesome.  It 
is  equally  lonesome  to  be  within  one  day  of  a  great  event,  be 
it  Shiloh  or  Chicago. 

All  Daniel  knew  was  that  the  peninsula  of  houses  east  of 
State  street  and  south  of  Congress  had  been  left.  Around 
them,  before  them,  with  winds  again  blowing  to  northeast, 
was  the  fire  reawakening  in  a  splendor,  oh!  how  hateful! 
They  had  seen  Ate  ;  they  had  lived  through  a  thick,  hot,  ex- 
asperating sirocco  of  smoke,  knowing  that  walls  were  trem- 
ling,  knowing  that  it  needed  only  night  to  make  the  volumes 
of  smoke  red  with  threatenings.  They  now  were  "weary  ; 
their  brains  were  full.  Into  a  cup  was  flowing  an  ocean. 

Chicago  was  -dead.  Her  corse  lay  on  this  weird  plain.  He 
must  love  her  well  who  did  not  already  nose  her.  He  must 
have  love  for  her  dust  who  did  not  now  turn  pale  with  faint- 
ness. 

Were  the  working  devils  of  the  spectacle  running  about 
over  there,  lighting  up  all  these  piece  de  resistance  to  make 
men's  hearts  break  utterly  ?  Was  it  not  enough  to  know 
that  Chicago  was  ?  Must  there  be  a  peep-show  of  it  ?  Is 
not  that  over  there  a  glorious  statue  of  George  Wash- 
ington ?  Yes,  it  took  the  Pacific  Hotel  to  furnish  that  one 
piece  of  this  night's  bric-a-brac.  What  splendid  jewels  are 
set  upon  the  circle  of  the  horizon !  Yes,  those  are  mountains 
of  hard  coal.  Let  them  seethe.  That  furthest  one — it  must  be 
three  miles  away.  There  lie  the  twelve  thousand  hearthstones 
on  which  that  coal  was  to  have  burned.  Out  here,  and  over 
there,  and  far  to  the  north,  are  the  hundred  thousand  that 
Ate  chased  away. 


THE  FIRST  NIGHT.  233 

Who  would  have  believed  Chicago  had  so  many  tall  chim- 
neys ?  Why  should  they  stand  there  balancing  against  the 
gale  while  great  thick  walls  worshipped  prone  before  Ate  ? 
Weird,  weird,  full  of  awful  shadows !  Fuller  of  realities  that 
stagger  the  very  imagination  of  Daniel  Trentworthy,  who 
stands  there  in  the  presence  of  the  Event — ay,  with  the 
Event  not  yet  done,  not  yet  ready  for  that  tremendous  page 
which  History  was  making  white  to  receive  it ! 

A  squad  of  citizens  inarched  up,  and  asked  the  city  editor's 
advice.  They  told  him  they  understood  the  West  Side  was 
not  yet  burned,  but  that  it  was  the  intention  of  incendiaries 
to  burn  the  rest  of  the  town  that  night.  Patrols  were  form- 
ing all  over.  There  was  no  gas.  Daniel,  hearing  this  news, 
had  hoped  to  get  to  the  West  Side  and  around  to  the  North 
Side.  He  was  consumed  with  fears  that  Merc}''  would  perish. 
Again  he  blamed  himself  for  not  making  the  detour  earlier 
in  the  day. 

When  he  had  supposed  the  vhole  city  was  on  lire  ! 

But  Daniel  was  only  one  of  tens  of  thousands  who  were 
thus  perplexed  on  the  9th  of  October. 

The  citizens  knew  Daniel  through  the  city  editor.  They 
knew  Daniel  was  not  a  thief.  That  was  sufficient.  They 
impressed  him  into  the  service.  They  told  him  he  would  get 
shot  if  he  went  to  the  West  Side,  which  statement  was  not 
improbable. 

"  You're  hungry  ?  "  they  inquired. 

"Not  very,"  he  said.  "  I  had  my  dinner — "  he  stopped  to 
think — "yesterday  noon." 

So  they  gave  him  his  supper  on  the  second  day.  He  ate 
little.  One's  palate  gets  rusty  when  a  city  burns. 

It  was  experienced  that  the  greatest  of  spectacles  deprived 
men  of  appetite. 

Behold,  then,  Mercy's  Daniel,  at  the  southern  verge  of  the 
embers,  with  night  come  on  the  second  day,  impressed  as  a 
watchman  who  was  to  deal  summarily  with  all  who  desired 
to  heighten  the  Event. 


234  DANIEL  TRENTWORTI1Y. 

It  was  deemed  best  that  each  of  the  patrols  at  Wabash  and 
Congress  should  serve  two  hours  and  sleep  four.  The  parlors 
of  a  house  which  had  been  emptied  in  moving  were  given  to 
the  squad  and  mattresses  laid  for  them.  Daniel  was  on  a  nar- 
row pinnacle  of  saved  property.  The  fire  was  next  door  to 
him  northward,  and  westward  the  edge  was  then  six  half- 
blocks  uway,  and  there  extended  southward  again  five  long 
blocks.  The  ruins  were  at  that  hour  far  too  hot  to  enter. 
Men  also  had  a  special  terror  of  fire.  It  was  shown  that  the 
more  they  saw  of  it  the  worse  they  thought  of  it.  At  10:30 
o'clock  it  came  Daniel's  turn  to  sleep. 

He  lay  upon  a  good  spring  mattress.  He  feared  he  would 
dream  of  Mary.  If  he  did  he  hoped  he  might  see  her  as  she 
once  had  been,  sitting  at  the  piano,  her  laugh  rippling 
through  the  house.  He  thought  how  wretched  would  be  his 
plight  if  he  had  really  been  a  party  to  Errington's  assassina- 
tion, and  devoutly  said  his  prayers.  "  Keep  Mercy  !  keep 
Mercy !  "  he  implored,  and  fell  asleep. 

Could  Mercy  have  seen,  how  she  would  have  pitied  the 
overtasked  brain  that,  but  a  moment  later,  sprang  from  that 
mattress  to  avoid  the  blue  tongues  of  flame  that  were  dart- 
ing around  the  room  and  encompassing  the  house.  Men  had 
seen  the  blue  tongue  that  day  until  it  had  worn  out  their 
cerebellum.  Daniel  shook  himself,  seized  his  carbine  and. 
went  outside.  It  was  raining.  He  felt  safer.  His  nerves 
quieted.  A  guard  stood  sleeping  against  the  patent  fence. 
The  wind  was  blowing  worse  than  ever.  What  if  it  had 
changed  its  course  with  that  guard  asleep  !  Daniel  could 
sleep  no  more. 

He  wondered  if  that  squad  over  at  Harrison  and  Third 
avenue  were  not  more  careful.  There  had  been  a  high  sand 
pile  there — ten  feet  high  and  thirty  feet  long — Sunday  morn- 
ing. Now  it  was  all  gone.  Example  of  the  power  and  per- 
sistence of  the  fire-gale  ! 

Yes,  that  squad  over  there  were  vigilant,   but  he  judged 


NOBLE  PEOPLE  ON  NOBLE  STREET.     235 

by  their  singing  that  they  had  been  drinking.  He  saw  a 
great  commotion.  He  heard  a  young  fellow  pleading. 
Daniel  woke  several  of  the  sleepers  and  ran  around  to  Har- 
rison street  and  over  beyond  State. 

He  met  a  line  of  guns,  but  the  men  soon  recognized  him 
as  a  citizen  guard. 

"We  caught  a  fire-bug.  He  was  setting  this  house  on 
fire.  See  ?  Here's  the  oil  and  here's  his  match." 

Daniel  must  believe.  It  was  true.  "  Where  is  he  now  ?  " 
Daniel  asked. 

"We  sent  him  up  to  see  if  the  Post-Office  was  burnt.  We 
were  anxious  to  know,  as  we  expected  a  letter." 

They  laughed,  and  one  set  up  the  popular  song,  "O  write 
me  a  letter  from  home  !  " 

In  front  of  them  were  the  walls  of  a  huge  brick  house. 
Within,  the  fire  burned  vividly.  One  of  the  drunken  patrols 
sauntered  over  there  and  peered  through  a  window. 

"Don't  go  near  there,  cully,"  they  said  to  Daniel,  who  had 
followed  the  man  ;  "  you'll  get  burned,  sure.  There !  your 
cap'n's  callin'  you.  Run  along.  Good-by.  If  we  need  you, 
we'll  call  you." 

There  was  no  law.  It  was  a  good  night,  to  be  sure,  for 
setting  fire  to  houses.  But  it  was  a  bad  night  to  be  caught 
doing  it. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

NOBLE   PEOPLE  ON  NOBL12  STREET. 

WHEN  Fullmer  arrived  at  the  Ohio  street  mansion  that 
Sunday  night  he  found  he  was  too  late  to  see  Harmon  Hole- 
broke  alive.  He  brought  Mrs.  Holebroke  and  Mercy  the 
welcome  news  that,  up  to  the  hour  he  had  left  the  West  Side, 


236  DANIEL  TRENT  WORTHY. 

the  Clinton  street  house  was  safe,  and  probably  would  not 
burn.  Yet,  in  the  depth  of  their  grief,  they  paid  a  secondary 
heed  to  the  matter.  To  Mercy's  inquiry  about  Daniel  he 
could  say  that  Daniel  was  on  his  way  to  the  house,  and  this 
cheered  the  maiden.  The  death  of  a  truly  good  man  is  a 
bitter  loss  to  his  dear  ones,  on  account  of  the  scarcity  of 
good  men.  As  Mercy  looked  into  a  future  that  had  no  Har- 
mon in  it,  the  realm  was  indeed  dark  and  forbidding. 

Another  great  fire  was  burning.  What  terrible  fires  we 
were  having !  she  thought,  wonderingly.  And  what  an  awful 
gale  had  blown  since  Friday  morning  !  It  really  seemed  to 
get  worse. 

Mr.  Fullmer  said  the  fire  had  caught  on  the  South  Side, 
and  would  probably  burn  all  the  wooden  houses  in  "  Con- 
ley's  patch,"  around  the  Armory  and  gas  works.  She  pitied 
the  poor  who  would  be  thrust  out  of  house  and  home. 

And  then  she  shuddered.  For  had  not  their  little  worldly 
effects  been  that  very  night  moved  over  on  the  open  lot,  and 
then  carried  back  ?  How  much  damage  must  have  been 
done  !  for  Mercy  had  the  instincts  of  a  good  housekeeper. 
Yes,  Daniel  had  been  on  the  lookout  for  her  and  hers.  This 
rich  marriage  of  Mary  had  brought  them  all  many  conve- 
niences. It  had  given  Harmon  an  easy  death.  "Mother," 
he  had  said,  "I  could  not  die  if  I  feared  that  you  or  Mercy 
would  ever  want." 

But  the  revelations  of  Friday  night  had  turned  all  Mercy's 
comforts  and  conveniences  into  complaining  witnesses  of 
Mary's  purpose.  A  careful  study  of  the  gray-eyed  sister's 
face  was  rewarded  by  the  discovery  that  she  was  in  a  high 
state  of  suppressed  excitement,  and  Mercy,  in  retrospection, 
was  forced  to  admit  that  this  situation  must  have  dated  back 
for  weeks.  And  yet  Mercy  believed  Mary  was  innocent. 

How  sadly  that  black-eyed  lady  needed  her  lover  that 
night.  Mary  had  hurried  from  the  death-bed  of  Harmon, 
and  had  been  seen  little  since.  Kalph  was  very  ill  indeed. 


NOBLE  PEOPLE  ON  NOBLE  STREET.     237 

It  was  his  worst  night,  Mary  said,  as  she  came  to  the  head 
of  the  staircase  to  ask  if  Daniel  had  arrived. 

Mr.  Errington  was  suffering  a  great  deal,  she  answered 
Mr.  Fullmer,  when  she  had  made  her  appearance  as  he  came 
in.  She  had  almost  fallen  in  his  arms,  he  thought.  Poor 
woman — brother  dead  ;  husband  so  low  !  The  man  once 
counted,  so  hard-hearted  was  soft  as  mother  to  babe.  He 
pitied  this  rich  lady. 

She  had  restrained  herself  barely  in  time.  All  men  were 
begrimed  from  this  West  Side  fire.  She  had  supposed  it  must 
be  Daniel. 

Then  the  fire  flood  poured  suddenly  on  the  Chamber  of 
Commerce  and  the  Court  House.  The  bell  rang  and  the  sky 
took  a  greater  light.  Fullmer  was  the  only  man  about  the 
premises.  He  began  to  feel  the  approaching  danger.  He 
suggested  preparation. 

Mary  said  "  No."  It  came  from  the  depths  of  her  apart- 
ments. Jt  was  accompanied  by  sharp  and  feeble  cries,  alter- 
nating. Doubtless  she  had  been  too  busy  to  give  the  subject 
proper  attention.  Doubtless  she  could  not  comprehend  the 
fact  that  what  was  to  happen  but  once  in  the  history  of  civi- 
lization was  happening  now.  She  could  not  know  that  the 
greatest  conflagration  of  the  Pagan  and  Christian  eras  was  at 
her  gates. 

So  Fullmer  believed,  though  he  himself  did  not  know  of 
Phlegethon.  He  believed  a  fire  was  approaching — not  a 
funnel  of  flame. 

He  went  to  the  stables  and  hitched  up  the  two  span  of 
horses.  He  took  the  two  largest  conveyances.  He  worked 
rapidly,  and  as  he  labored  saw  new  evidences  of  the  need  of 
haste.  He  awoke  the  neighbors. 

"Mary,  dear,  we  must  go.  There  is  a  great  fire.  Mr. 
Fullmer  says  it  is  not  safe  here.  Can  we  aid  you  to  move 
Ralph  ?  The  carriages  are  in  front."  So  asked  the  mother, 
worn  nnt  with  disapp  tinted  hope.  What  is  so  entirely 


238  DANIEL  TEENTWORTIIY.  - 

unnatural  as  for  the  offspring  to  die  and  leave  its  parent  ? 

"  Go,"  came  the  stern  answer,  with  the  cries  of  agony. 
"  Go  !  "  it  rang  out  authoritatively. 

"  Mercy,  we  must  go.  Mary  commands  it."  Now  how 
was  it  that  the  mother-heart  could  be  hurt,  even  while  it  was 
wrung  with  the  greatest  of  sorrows.  "Mary  commands  it !" 
The  brooding  soul  did  not  feel  that  Mary  had  commanded 
her  mother's  services  sufficiently. 

What  a  short  moment  was  that  meeting  of  Mercy  with  the 
beloved  Daniel.  Ah !  he  had  come  !  He  would  not  leave 
them  now  !  Alas  !  before  she  knew  it  she  was  in  the  car- 
riage, and  Daniel  was  not.  She  looked  back  in  the  un- 
earthly light.  She  saw  him  enter  the  house  too  suddenly, 
she  thought. 

The  door  had  pulled  him  in. 

On  every  side  was  the  evidence  of  panic — of  great  danger. 
She  again  looked  backward  toward  the  mansion  and  saw  the 
neighbor's  house  collapsing,  as  though  sucked  into  a  cave  be- 
neath. Was  it,  then,  such  an  onslaught  as  that  ? 

She  asked  Mr.  Fullmer  :  Was  Daniel  in  danger  ?  Were  he 
and  Mrs.  Errington  and  Mr.  Trentworthy  in  real  jeopardy  ? 
Well,  he  didn't  like  to  say,  but  he  thought  they  ought  to  get 
out  of  that  block  at  least. 

The  carriage  proceeded  slowly  in  that  flying  storm  of 
sand,  in  that  red  ghost's  light,  in  that  third  caravan  of  the 
fire.  They  were  soon  out  of  the  district  that  was  imme- 
diately threatened  and  reached  Mrs.  Trenton's  house  in 
safety. 

The  people  in  that  quarter  were  all  asleep.  It  was  a 
ghastly  company  for  the  Trentons  to  receive,  and  it  tried  the 
mettle  of  the  good  woman  to  conceive,  in  one  moment,  that  a 
city  was  burning  and  that  a  dead  friend  and  two  living  ones 
sought  the  asylum  of  her  roof.  She  was  a  heroic  woman. 
She  looked  into  the  heavens,  and  the  heavens  were  telling. 
She  made  place,  and  had  an  undertaker  at  the  house  i:i  half 


NOBLE  PEOPLE  ON  NOBLE  STREET.     239 

an  hour.  There  is  something  astonishingly  clever  in  the 
wide-awake  American  city  housewife.  She  has  adjusted  her- 
self to  heat,  cold  and  position  more  nicely  than  any  chrono- 
meter balance-wheel.  She  can  get  up  and  do  more,  and  do  it 
more  cheaply,  than  any  other  potentiality  in  existence. 

So  that  the  body  of  Harmon,  on  a  carriage-box,  became  the 
body  of  Harmon  in  temporary  laying-out,  ready  for  casket 
and  burial  at  proper  time.  Crape  was  on  the  door.  Men 
were  to  dig  the  grave  at  dawn. 

Daniel  and  Mary  and  the  sick  man  did  not  come. 

The  mother  gazed  upon  the  growing  light,  and  put  her 
hands  to  her  temples  in  a  feeble  way.  She  dwelt  entirely  on 
Mary.  Mercy  could  not  endure  her  suspense.  She  said 
nothing  to  the  busy  Mrs.  Trenton. 

"Mother,"  Mercy  said,  "I  am  going  back." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  mother,  "  find  Mary." 

And  down  the  quiet  street  the  girl  ran,  fearing  Mr.  Tren- 
ton or  Fullmer  would  discover  her  absence.  She  was  afraid 
something  would  happen  to  Daniel,  and  she  wished  to  share 
his  fate. 

For  a  woman  will  leave  father  and  mother,  brother  and 
sister,  and  cleave  to  the  stranger.  She  will  accuse  herself 
of  heartlessness  to  her  own,  and  heartless  she  is.  But  how 
else  shall  she  become  a  wife  ?  How  else  shall  she  follow 
husband  to  scaffold  ?  How  else  shall  she  wait  at  prison 
walls,  hoping  he  will  not  forget  her  when  the  state  shall 
purge  him  forth  ? 

Mercy  wrapped  a  shawl  about  her  head  and  face.  She 
might  be  some  German  frau,  hurrying  southward  to  her  hus- 
band's beer-counter,  to  get  the  money  in  the  till.  She  was 
safe  in  the  growing  multitude.  She  thought  of  the  night  of 
the  grand  wedding,  and  the  similar  journey  of  woe  that  she 
had  made  to  the  Ohio  street  mansion.  "Oh!  God! "she 
implored,  "why  must  I  suffer  this  twice  ?  "—for  man  for- 
ever thinks  he  ought  not  to  suffer.  Then,  as  she  put  off  her 


240  DANIEL  TRENTWOHTIIY. 

burden,  the  reaction  of  hope  came  back.  She  saw  Daniel 
removing  poor  Ralph,  and  the  stern  Mary  saving  everything, 
even  to  the  bronze  goblins  in  the  hallway. 

"It  is  strange,"  she  murmured  thankfully,  "what  a  panic 
I  was  in  then." 

But  even  as  she  peered  down  North  Clark  street,  it  was  a 
mass  of  flame.  The  center  of  the  street  was  on  fire.  The 
air  was  on  fire.  She  looked,  gasping,  to  the  left,  or  east  of 
this  main  thoroughfare.  Verily,  it  must  be  on  this  side  of 
Ohio  street,  over  there,  that  those  pythons  of  scarlet  cloud 
made  their  spirals  in  the  air. 

It  was  Phlegethon  rolling  to  the  water  works,  five  blocks 
northward  of  Ohio  street. 

The  tide  of  pedestrians  was  now  northward.  But  she  had 
business  beyond  Phlegethon.  She  must  cross  it,  or  go 
around  it.  Daniel,  her  Daniel,  was  on  the  other  side.  She 
must  go  through  it.  Forward,  like  an  endangered  steed,  she 
moved.  She  reached  Chicago  avenue,  the  street  of  the  water 
works,  but  a  half-mile  to  the  westward  of  the  pumping  house. 
She  would  have  gone  on,  but  a  policeman  turned  her  into 
Chicago  avenue. 

"Go  straight  west  !  ''  he  said,  for  she  must  be  fleeing  from 
the  fire.  The  crowd  was  now  behind  her.  She  must  go. 
"  Ah  !  The  smelting-works  !  "  she  thought.  The  works  were 
on  Wells  street,  to  the  south  of  Chicago  avenue.  She  could 
get  thither.  Daniel  and  Mary  and  Ralph  were  there.  Of 
course,  Ralph  could  not  be  moved  far.  There  was  a  good 
office  over  there,  to  be  sure. 

But  it  was  an  expedient  of  the  moment — this  thought. 
She  feared  Daniel  was  in  Phlegethon.  She  wanted  to  turn 
back  and  go  to  him.  She  did  not  want  to  live  without  him. 
Like  Gautama,  she  had  seen  those  things  she  had  not  thought 
to  see.  Her  mother  had  failed  entirely  since  Harmon's  ill- 
ness. What  other  link  of  the  past  had  not  been  rudely 
broken  ?  With  Daniel  by  her  side  she  could  have  seen  the 


NOKLE  PEOPLE  ON  NOBLE  STREET.  241 

wisdom  of  God's  present  act.  But  with  him  beyond  Phlege- 
thon,  her  mind  was  still  in  doubt. 

Did  we  not  all  try  to  measure  God's  providence  with  our 
own  little  measure  ?  Did  we  not  all  try  to  adjust  the  burnt 
district  to  our  houses  and  lots,  or  to  our  packed  trunk,  ere 
we  attempted  to  believe  there  was  a  Divine  hand  ? 

Thus  Mercy,  increasing  in  agony,  went  away  from  Dan- 
iel. She  looked  down  Wells  street. 

"  Ah !  ain't  it  a  pity  !  "  said  the  women,  "  the  big  smelting- 
works  is  on  fire." 

"  Did  you  hear  there  were  forty  people  burned  in  the  Con- 
tinental Hotel  ?"  asked  another. 

"  I  saw  'em  pull  a  roasted  fireman  out  of  a  big  water-pipe 
over  there,"  said  a  husband  to  the  women. 

"  McCormick's  is  burned,"  said  another. 

"  Oh,  gracious  !  "  said  the  women. 

Their  men  worked  there.  It  was  worse  than  a  strike  at 
the  great  reaper  factory  on  Hush  street. 

A  man  came  past  with  a  canary  in  a  cage.  He  was 
voluble  with  excitement.  "  I  grabbed  this  cage,"  he  ex- 
plained, "  and  left  $1,150  under  a  carpet." 

This  crowd,  surging  toward  the  Chicago  avenue  bridge, 
was  orderly,  solemn  and  stoical.  No  one  could  remark  upon 
a  loss  that  would  not  elicit  a  statement  of  loss  ten  times  as 
great. 

"I'm  out  of  my  situation,"  a  young  man  would  say. 

"I  have  lost  a  hundred  thousand  dollars,"  a  gray-haired 
man  would  respond. 

"My  wife  and  two  children  burned  before  my  eyes,"  a 
wild-looking  fugitive  would  shout  furiously,  "and  I  could 
not  even  get  their  bodies." 

And  then  the  pressure  of  general  contempt  would  fall  on 
him  who  had  first  complained.  So  all  learned  to  keep  still. 
It  was  deep  water.  No  one  knew  its  depth. 

But  this  west-going  concourse,  confident  of  its  means  of 

16 


242  DANIEL  TKENTWOJITHY. 

exit  into  the  West  Side,  was  to  behold  the  main  tragedies  of 
the  conflagration.  The  North  Side,  at  this  point,  was  widen- 
ing very  rapidly.  At  Wells  street  and  the  main  river,  on 
Kenzie  street,  say,  the  crowd  would  have  reached  the  West 
Side  bridge  in  four  blocks.  But  at  Chicago  avenue,  ten 
short  blocks  northward,  the  distance  westward  to  a  bridge 
was  eight  long  blocks.  They  felt  secure  for  many  reasons, 
but  were  in  dire  extremity  for  as  many.  The  section  of  the 
city  between  Clark  street  and  Chicago  avenue  on  east  and 
north,  and  the  two  bayous  on  south  and  west,  were  thickly 
filled  with  inhabitants.  Where  factories  had  risen,  workmen 
had  grouped  around,  two,  three,  four  families  in  a  house. 
The  houses  were  nearly  all  wooden.  The  fire  which  was 
going  slowly  in  the  South  Side  would  get  its  old-time  fury 
when  it  reached  this  swath.  There  were  only  two  large 
churches  and  the  Kenzie  school  as  bulwarks.  While  the 
multitudes  had  been  moving  carelessly  at  Clark  and  Wells 
streets  on  Chicago  avenue,  the  lumber  piles,  tar  works,  tene- 
ments, and  flouring  mills  had  once  more  given  a  double- 
quick  motion  to  the  onset.  The  people  suddenly  filled 
Chicago  avenue  ahead  of  Mercy,  coming  out  of  Franklin, 
Market,  and  Sedgwick  streets,  and  the  densest  of  endurable 
smoke  closed  in  on  the  scene. 

That  bridge  ahead  must  stand.  That  avenue  of  escape 
must  not  fail.  What  is  that  cry  ?  A  fire  at  the  northward 
of  the  bridge,  caught  from  flying  embers.  Onward  the  cara- 
van pressed.  What  was  poor  Mercy  now  ?  Only  a  unit, 
only  a  German  frau,  holding  shawl  over  head  to  ward  away 
sparks — a  frau  without  children,  without  broken  furniture 
or  cracked  crockery,  without  wheelbarrow,  buggy,  truck, 
dray. 

Would  they  reach  that  bridge?  A  woman  fell  by  the 
curbstone,  and  a  child  was  born  to  her.  Convulsions  seized 
her,  and  she  was  dead  ere  Mercy  went  by. 

A   general  fascination   seized  the  fleeing  host.     Ahead,  a 


NOBLE  PEOPLE  ON  NOBLE  STREET.      243 

half  block  south  of  the  bridge  approach,  a  large  group  of 
blacksmiths  had  been  seen  to  enter  a  shop  to  save  their  tools 
— sixteen  blacksmiths,  a  man  said  who  had  counted  them. 
The  building  blazed,  but  the  workmen  did  not  come  forth. 

"  Oh  !  they  went  out  the  other  side,"  said  a  wise  fugitive. 

"No,  they  didn't,"  cried  back  a  fleeing  sight-seer,  who  was 
in  advance.  "  There  didn't  a  soul  come  out,  and  there  were 
sixteen  of  'em." 

"We'll  never  reach  the  bridge  !"  they  cried,  and  ran  for 
life.  Some  one  had  blundered.  It  was  then  to  be  Beresina 
and  Leipsic.  They  crowded  up  the  approach.  The  fire  was 
hot  to  right  and  left.  It  was  too  late.  A  large  group  of 
men,  women  and  children,  seeing  the  flames  at  the  bridge, 
turned  into  a  narrow  street  to  the  right,  which  proved  to  be 
a  cul-de-sac,  and  gave  them  their  death.  How  many  of  these 
victims  there  were  is  not  to  be  known.  Some  said  twenty  ; 
more  people  said  forty. 

Mercy  went  on.  She  had  given  up  hope.  And  she  was 
not  going  near  to  Daniel.  Death  with  him  would  have  been 
sweeter.  Still  she  had  looked  at  those  sixteen  fathers  of 
families.  The  Lord  willed  it.  What  right  had  she  to  com- 
plain ?  She  arrived  at  the  bridge  as  it  was  well  in  course  of 
the  quick  destruction  that  seemed  to  be  in  store  for  every- 
thing and  everybody  that  cruel  night.  The  group  could  not 
go  back.  Down  the  stairs  she  went,  and  under  the  approach 
by  the  edge  of  the  turbid  water.  The  Division  street  bridge 
was  over  half  a  mile  away,  through  fire.  The  people  were 
roasting  down  there  under  the  approach.  The  weak  ones 
were  already  unconscious. 

Why  did  it  not  terrify  her  to  see  men,  women  and  children 
biting  the  dust,  lying  thicker  than  in  battle  ?  Why  did  she 
go  further  into  that  oven  of  stonework  ?  A  boat  lay  beyond, 
where  no  person  had  believed  one  could  go.  She  drew  the 
shawl  over  her  head  more  closely.  She  breathed  through  its 
texture.  She  stepped  into  the  boat.  Why  did  she  do  that  ? 


244  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

Because  an  unseen  hand  had  guided  her.  The  wind  veered 
for  a  moment.  Three  strong  men  made  a  dash  to  follow  her 
example,  unfastening  the  chain  as  they  settled  to  the  oars. 

The  first  push  brought  them  nearer  the  burning  pier  in 
the  middle  of  the  river.  Their  hair  answered  with  a  crackle. 
Their  ears  rolled  a  little.  They  groaned  in  agony.  But 
Mercy  lay  in  the  bottom  of  the  yawl,  and  heard  nothing. 
The  water  in  the  boat  had  cooled  her.  She  was  unconscious 
from  the  shock — the  freezing  sensation  of  tepid  water. 

The  next  push  saved  the  boat-load,  for  the  degree  of  heat 
at  once  lessened.  They  poured  the  black  water  on  Mercy 
and  splattered  it  on  themselves.  They  neared  a  place  of 
safety  and  gave  Mercy  to  outstretched  Christian  hands. 

Then  those  boatmen,  grown  suddenly  great,  according  to 
the  moment,  chose  their  path,  and  transferred  many  others. 
But  many  of  the  unfortunates  under  that  approach  were  so 
stolid  with  heat  and  suffering  that  they  would  not  come  out 
of  the  oven,  even  though  life  depended  upon  it.  They  lost 
their  lives  there,  almost  needlessly,  from  pure  panic.  There 
were  accessible  places  where  the  heat  was  less  intense.  How 
many  were  lost  is  not  well  estimated.  Mercy,  with  shawl 
over  her  face,  said  there  must  have  been  twenty. 

Certain  it  is  that  this  was  the  truly  tragic  spot  of  the  fire. 
The  loss  of  that  bridge  was  the  loss  of  a  strategic  point  of 
escape.  There  was  rapid  burial  by  friends.  There  was  no 
precise  coroner's  work  for  some  days. 

A  man  and  his  brother  stood  and  received  the  prone  figure 
in  that  boat.  They  carried  her  to  the  avenue.  They  secured 
an  express  wagon.  They  bore  her  to  their  home  on  Noble 
street.  Why  ?  Because  they  were  Christian  people,  and  all 
such  felt  a  desire  that  they  had  not  known  was  dormant  in 
them — a  desire  which  gave  them  great  self-respect — a  desire 
to  reach  out  a  helping  hand  to  those  who  had  been  stricken. 

These  brothers  had  hoped  to  rescue  a  fair  lady.  A  German 
frau,  shawl  over  head,  was  thrown  into  their  hands.  They 


NOBLE  PEOPLE  ON  NOBLE  STREET.     245 

had  succored  her  willingly.  See  the  delight  of  that  unmar- 
ried brother  when  he  beholds,  after  all,  a  beautiful  young 
woman.  She  is  not  burned.  She  is  very  low,  or  unconscious. 
They  drive  slowly.  They  carry  her  tenderly.  They  give 
her  their  best  room — the  parlor.  They  consult  their  own 
doctor,  who  does  not  refuse  to  come.  The  young  man  watches 
over  her.  Ah  !  she  will  be  well  cared  for  !  Is  not  beauty  a 
sacred  thing,  after  all,  when  we,  following  God's  evident 
commands,  worship  it  so  without  hypocrisy  ? 

"  She  is  hurt  from  breathing  hot  air,"  the  good  doctor 
says,  and  bustles  off  on  the  busiest  day  of  his  life.  •  Every- 
where sad  cases.  Often  bad  cases  where  the  patient  has  lost 
one  of  her  two  houses,  and  has  not  been  near  the  burnt  dis- 
trict. There  were  signs  and  portents  that  outdid  the  nights 
of  the  great  Roman  assassination.  Five  hundred  babes  had 
birthdays  in  commemoration  of  Ate. 

"  Bad  air,"  hummed  the  doctor ;  "  but  plenty  of  it — plenty 
of  it ! "  as  the  gale  blew. 

The  young  man  watched  this  Monday  night  by  his  lovely 
charge.  The  neighbors  were  all  interested.  A  beautiful 
lady  had  drifted  thither  from  the  aristocratic  North  Side. 
The  street  was  honored.  Is  there  anything  in  the  boast  of 
human  equality  ? 

There  is  nothing  that  will  ever  put  a  serf's  yoke  on  beauty. 
Let  Noble  street  do  her  honor.  A  wise  thoroughfare  !  There 
shall  be  no  regrets. 

Other  young  men  went  off  to  the  ruins  or  patrolled  the 
quarter.  This  young  man  held  Mercy's  tiny  wrist,  and  put 
his  fingers  to  span  her  narrow  throat.  The  action  of  her 
heart  grew  better.  Her  respiration  became  natural.  At  10 
o'clock  she  spoke . 

"Daniel  ?  "  she  asked,  and  smiled.  Was  it  not  hard  that 
this  good  young  man  must  not  love  her  ? 

"No,"  he  answered,  and  there  came  a  cloud  upon  his 
brow. 


246  DANIEL  TUENT\\'ORTUY. 

"  I  might  have  known  it,"  he  said,  with  keen  disappoint- 
ment. 

Of  course  he  might.  Did  he  suppose  men  had  been  born 
blind  to  beauty  until  he  came  on  the  scene  ? 

But  was  he  so  bitterly  disappointed  as  poor  Mercy,  after 
all? 


CHAPTEK  XXXI. 

OUT. 

WHEN  Mrs.  Trenton  learned  that  Mercy  had  gone,  the  good 
wife  was  frantic  with  excitement  and  suspense.  She  could 
not  believe  that  Mrs.  Holebroke  would  have  consented  to  such 
a  thing,  and  noticed,  for  the  first  time,  the  changed  mental 
condition  of,  the  old  lady.  Mrs.  Trenton  was  a  brave  and 
noble-spirited  woman,  and  she  said,  when  her  husband  re- 
marked that  he  would  like  to  go  after  Mercy  : 

"  Go,  my  dear ;  it  is  right.  Bring  her  back.  But  please, 
dear,  be  careful !  Come  back." 

Tears  "were  in  her  eyes,  for  the  portent  of  the  moving 
crowds  was  dispiriting.  So  Trenton  went  forth,  and  the  en- 
tire conduct  of  the  situation  fell  upon  Mrs.  Trenton,  who 
begged  Fullmer  to  stay  with  them  as  long  as  he  could. 

The  crape  on  the  door  kept  the  refugees  away  during  that 
fearful  day  of  smoke  and  gale  and  flying  sand. 

The  husband  did  not  return.  Mercy  did  not  return.  The 
mother  sat  inanely  by  Harmon's  body,  and  gave  further  evi- 
dence that  the  sorrows  and  horrors  of  the  night  had  unbal- 
anced her.  The  good  printer,  growing  apprehensive  that  he 
was  neglecting  his  own  household,  and  hearing  rumors  that 


OUT.  247 

the  quarter  in  which  his  family  had  taken  asylum  was  also 
burned  or  burning,  was  compelled  to  go.  . 

The  lady  took  him  by  the  hand  and  thanked  him  with  all 
her  heart. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  he  said,  simply,  "that  you  have  more 
for  which  to  blame  than  to  thank  me.  I  have  brought  you 
much  trouble." 

"He  will  come  back!"  she  said  triumphantly.  "I  know 
Edson  Trenton.  He  told  me  he  would  come  back,  and  he 
will.  He  knows  I  have  trusted  him  with  iny  life.  It  is  not 
himself  alone  he  will  take  care  of. 

And  so,  with  sublime  faith,  she  set  to  her  great  task. 

Her  trust  was  well  founded.  Her  husband  was  late  in  re- 
turning, but  he  came  back  as  he  had  gone  out,  doing  his  duty. 
He  came  back  fighting  fire. 

"My  dear,  it's  narrowing  down,"  he  said,  "I  think  we  can 
beat  it."  He  looked  admiringly  at  the  long  strips  of  wet 
carpet  that  lay  on  his  roof. 

"I  have  you  here,"  she  said.  "We  could  fight  the  fire 
though  it  came  here  from  Thirty-first  street." 

When  Mr.  Trenton  saw  that  he  must  give  up  the  hope  of 
finding  Mercy,  he  was  confronted  by  the  whole  line  of  battle 
of  the  Chicago  fire.  It  came  on,  over  a  mile  wide,  for  a 
distance  of  half  a  mile  of  advance.  Then  its  path  must  nar- 
row. The  lake  shore  was  impinging  rapidly  on  its  right 
flank.  Houses  were  getting  scarce  on  its  left.  When  it  had 
reached  Center  street,  at  the  main  entrance  to  Lincoln  Park, 
there  were  households  there  who  had  not  seen  Phlegethon. 
They  knew  there  was  a  fire  and  a  great  wind.  They  were 
not  terrified  into  believing  it  was  a  funnel,  and  it  happened 
that  their  feeling  responded  to  the  facts.  Good  work,  with 
well-water,  actually  put  a  stop  to  the  flames  athwart  two 
blocks  of  its  front  on  Center  street. 

As  10  o'clock  came,  on  Monday  night,  it  advanced  toward 
Mrs.  Trenton's  house,  with  a  total  battle  display  only  three 


248  VAX  I  EL  TREXTWORTUY. 

blocks  wide.  On  its  right  was  the  waste  that  was  to  be  the 
north  end  of  the  Lincoln  Park  of  to-day.  On  its  left  were 
the  brave  hopers,  who  had  turned  its  flank  at  Center  street 
and  pushed  it  over  to  Hurlbut  street.  The  gale  was  furious, 
and  no  longer  abetted  the  destroyer,  blowing  rather  directly 
toward  the  east. 

Real  estate  had  not  been  $100  a  foot  when  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Trenton  bought  in  Chicago.  They  had  plenty  of  breathing 
room.  The  ground  was  covered  with  autumn  leaves,  which 
were  carefully  gathered.  The  sidewalk  was  taken  up  and 
the  boards  piled  in  the  park. 

Preparations  were  made  to  move,  if  need  be.  But  the 
word  that  (jarne  was  cheerful.  There  was  good  hope  that  the 
fire  was  Hearing  its  point  of  surrender. 

From  one  or  two  precious  wells  the  water  was  coming  for 
the  soaking  of  carpets.  Houses  that  enjoyed  strategic  posi- 
tions were  chosen  and  their  sides  hung  with  these  tapestries, 
richer  to  those  fire-surfeited  eyes  than  any  arras  or  portiere 
that  has  ever  breathed  the  air  of  languor  and  luxury  since 
that  night. 

The  fighters  at  Belden  avenue  had  hoped  their  enemy 
could  not  cross  that  northern  thoroughfare.  It  gained  a 
slight  hold  and  burned  a  house  or  two.  But  there  its  last 
capture  was  made.  There  it  turned  over  its  final  hearthstone. 
There  it  wrecked  the  last  of  its  victims.  There  it  blasted 
the  last  hope. 

At  ten  o'clock  and  twenty  minutes  on  Tuesday  night,  Oct. 
9,  1871,  the  Chicago  fire  labored  across  lots  toward  Ful- 
lerton  avenue.  She  who  would  have  been  called  Dame  Part- 
ington  when  the  Division  street  front  was  deployed  was  now 
a  brave  housewife  with  a  chance  of  winning.  Thump,  thump, 
the  brooms  went  on  the  ground,  for  these  Illinois  women  were 
not  afraid  of  grass  fires. 

Thump,  thump,  thump,  and  if  they  keep  it  away  from  that 
house  where  Harmon  lies,  the  Chicago  fire  will  be  Out. 


OUT.  249 

The  lot  is  about  seventy-five  feet  wide.  There  is  a  ragged 
fire-front  of  about  fifty  feet.  They  guard  the  house  end 
most  stubbornly.  They  mass  their  attack  on  that  left  flank 
of  the  grass  fire.  They  turn  the  flank.  At  Eylau  Napoleon 
let  loose  eighty  squadrons  of  horse,  and  the  lake  beneath 
trembled  so  that  the  Russians  were  stricken  with  panic. 
This  massing  of  brooms  is  a  grand  coup.  But,  when  we 
turn  the  enemy,  we  must  be  careful  to  see  he  does  not  turn 
us.  Kosecrans  did  that  thing  to  his  enemy  at  Stone  River. 
While  we  broom  back  this  left  flank  of  this  little  billow  that 
rolled  so  high  over  court-house,  cathedral,  opera-house,  host- 
elry, and  hospital,  let  us  be  sure  the  right  flank  does  not  pros- 
per too  easily. 

Beat  it  hard  out  there ;  it  is  fighting  sturdily !  That 
picket  fence — why  was  it  allowed  to  stand  ?  So  scolds  Mrs. 
Trenton.  To  the  house,  then,  for  the  axes !  How  well  that 
fence  stuff  burns — plenty  of  air,  perpendicular  surface,  and 
train  of  connections  ?  Yes,  that  is  the  same  fiend,  the  same 
epiglottic  sound  of  wolf,  non-carnate.  Chop  quickly,  axman. 
Chop  !  chop  !  It  nears  the  corner  of  North  Clark  street  and 
Fullerton  avenue,  the  southwest  corner.  The  corner  is 
reached.  The  large  hollow  post  blazes  up.  The  front  pickets 
are  dashed  away.  There  the  destroyer  must  expire.  His 
front  flank  had  pushed  forward  fifty  feet  beyond  the  death- 
place  of  the  left. 

It  is  10:30.  The  post  burns  in  the  center  of  a  circle  of 
shadowy  conquerors.  It  chars  and  dies,  for  the  brooms  hit 
it  and  the  axes  deal  it  many  blows. 

The  neighbors  may  claim  to  you  that  the  Chicago  fire  was 
run  to  earth  over  there  across  the  street  in  a  stable.  The 
stable,  of  course,  is  dramatic.  But  set  here  your  monument. 
Here,  by  much  consent,  the  Chicago  fire  went  Out. 

After  the  post  had  burned  a  leaf  caught  fire — an  oak  leaf. 
A  maple  leaf  led  on  the  sparkj  ^and  one  with  keenest  oars 
would  still  have  heard  the ..epiglot,tic. sound,  pf  wolves*  <.Qut 


250  DANIEL  TRENTWOETUY. 

in  the  deep  sand  a  great  leaf  of  catalpa  invited  the  attack. 
Into  its  leathery  integument  the  fire  buried  itself.  It  was 
suffocating.  Between  two  ribs  of  the  leaf  it  narrowed  grad- 
ually to  a  shining  spark.  It  was  now  only  the  golden  mote 
that  reached  the  wisp  that  crossed  the  abyss  between  It  Was 
and  It  Is  in  Patrick  O'Leary's  manger,  three  miles  and  a 
half  away.  Once  more,  as  then,  it  prepared  for  some  great 
leap  of  one-fiftieth  of  an  inch. 

High  in  the  clouds  a  drop  of  rain  formed  and  descended. 
The  column  of  air  that  had  supported  this  drop  sprang  up, 
and  the  spark  breathed  freer.  The  rain-drop,  as  marksman 
could  not  aim,"  flew  at  its  golden  mark.  There  was,  for 
keenest  ear,  a  noise  not  to  be  omitted  from  chronicles. 

It  was  Ate,  expiring  with  a  hiss  of  hatred.  Yet  between 
that  first  spark,  and  that  last  spark,  headed  off  by  the  con- 
verging ribs  of  a  leaf  of  catalpa,  and  overwhelmed  by  drop  of 
rain  from  heaven,  as  Pharaoh  by  Red  Sea,  what  an  immea- 
surable reach  of  difference  !  What  odds  whether  that  last 
house,  or  that  last  block,  or  that  Fifteenth  Ward  burn  or  not, 
so  far  as  the  world,  onlooking  in  after  times,  shall  care  ?  For 
men  living  in  the  city  of  the  great  event  will  to-day  tell  you 
that  they  know  not  the  year  of  the  fire.  It  was  not  for  a  day, 
a  year,  any  more  than  was  Shakespeare.  But  until  the  cir- 
cumstances and  fact  of  a  quarter  before  9  o'clock  p.  M.  on  the 
east  half  of  lot  12  on  the  night  of  Oct.  8,  1871,  shall  recon- 
vene, to  the  terror  of  mankind — until  then,  men  will  visit 
Chicago  from  far  off  lands,  and  when  they  have  returned  to 
their  neighbors  they  will  say  :  "  I  stood  where  It  started,  and 
I  saw  were  It  was  put  out." 

If  you  go  now  to  DeKoven  street  you  shall  see  substantial 
brick  apartment  houses  risen  along  the  block.  Upon  the 
fatal  spot  in  the  rear  you  may  behold  a  well-built  shed  of  the 
pattern  of  that  one  which  once  mangered-  Ate,  but  not  so 
high.  In  the  front  wall  of  the  fine  brick  building,  you  will 
read  the  following,  on  a  marble  tablet : 


TUX  110  WLING  OF  A  DOG.  251 


* 

THE  GREAT  FIRE  of  1871 
ORIGINATED  HEKE,  and  EXTENDED  to 

LINCOLN  PARK. 
CHICAGO  HISTORICAL  SOCIETY,  1881. 


No  picture  of  Patrick  O'Leary's  cottage,  which  stood  there 
until  1881,  was  taken.  The  tablet  was  erected  at  the  urgent 
request  of  the  white-haired  librarian  of  the  society,  who  vows 
he  paid  for  it  out  of  his  own  pocket.  Evidence  that  the  gen- 
eration which  saw  the  Fire  had  no  other  curiosity  concerning 
it !  A  tablet,  too,  not  altogether  exact — not  altogether  likely 
to  satisfy  the  future.  Garnish  your  alley,  Anton  Kolar,  suc- 
cessor of  Patrick  O'Leary  !  A  tide  of  men  are  to  pass  that 
way! 

And  set  this  other  monument  of  Out  at  the  southwest 
corner  of  Fullerton  avenue  and  North  Clark  street. 

And  that  catalpa  leaf,  where  Ate  lies  buried,  press  it  be- 
tween the  pages  of  history,  and  let  it  grow  yellow  ! 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

THE    HOWLIXG    OF    A  DOG. 

EARLY  Tuesday  morning  Daniel  laid  down  his  gun  and 
with  the  city  editor  started  directly  through  the  ruins  toward 
the  Madison  street  bridge.  The  city  editor  knew  where  the 
printing  plant  of  the  old  co-operative  company  was  stored,  on 
Canal  street,  and  was  anxious  to  secure  it.  Daniel  could  not 
but  marvel  at  the  strange  fate  which  had  preserved  this  out- 


252  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

fit.  The  scheme  to  redeem  mankind  through  co-operative 
labor  had  failed.  Whereas,  at  the  start,  no  man  could  own 
more  than  a  limited  amount  of  the  stock,  it  became  necessary 
to  borrow  at  once  $2,500  in  money.  Thus  the  man  with  the 
mortgage  held  a  very  large  interest.  There  were  about  $11,- 
000  worth  of  material.  The  mortgage  was  not 'paid,  and  was 
foreclosed.  Pending  foreclosure  the  directors  put  the  plant 
in  the  hands  of  a  receiver,  the  receiver  sold  the  plant,  the 
directors  moved  the  plant,  and  the  man  with  the  mortgage 
put  the  directors  in  jail.  Sad  end  of  the  glorious  principle 
of  co-operation  among  Chicago  printers  !  By  this  time  there 
was  a  grand  case  for  the  lawyers,  and  the  records  were  ap- 
proaching completion  when  Patrick  O'Leary's  barn  caught 
fire.  The  stuff  itself  lay  in  waiting  on  Canal  street,  for, 
while  it  might  be  dissipated  in  fees  and  other  terms,  it  re- 
mained lead  and  antimony  by  keeping  on  the  west  side  of 
the  river. 

This  was  the  only  establishment  of  body-type  in  Chicago. 
Singular  chance  by  which  the  citizens  had  a  paper,  printed 
on  one  side,  the  next  day.  And  not  a  bad  chance  for  the 
printers,  for  they  got  $5,000  and  the  man  of  the  mortgage 
$5,000.  The  lawyers  would  not  have  done  as  much  toward 
getting  back  the  $13,500  of  original  outlay. 

The  city  editor  was  anxious  to  see  his  newspaper  office. 

He  did  not  want  to  go  alone. 

"  People  came  out  of  there  yesterday  noon,"  he  said.  "  It 
must  be  cooler  now." 

This  was  true.  Many  persons  tarrying  too  long  about  the 
Post-office  on  Monday  had  been  forced  to  make  the  passage 
across  to  Madison  street  bridge.  John  McDevitt,  a  cele- 
brated billiard  player,  was  probably  the  last  of  these  sur- 
rounded spectators.  He  was  seen  in  the  Post-office  alleyway, 
apparently  as  safe  as  a  dozen  who  escaped.  He  went  under 
the  sidewalk  of  the  fire-proof  newspaper  office  and  perished. 
His  engraved. watch-cover  identified  his  charred  body ._  .  •. ..; 


THE  HOWLING  OF  A  DOG.  253 

From  Congress  street  northward  to  Monroe  there  was  not  a 
salient  ruin.  The  outlines  of  the  Grand  Pacific  Hotel  were 
preserved,  in  places  as  high  as  the  fourth  story.  The  Court- 
house, Post-office,  a  new  insurance  building  at  the  southwest 
corner  of  Monroe  and  La  Salle,  the  Tribune  building  and  the 
First  National  Bank,  at  the  southwest  corner  of  State  and 
Washington,  remained,  the  only  ruined  edifices  whose  walls 
had  wholly  or  partly  preserved  their  shape  during  the  term 
of  melting  heat  to  which  nearly  all  the  South  Side  was  sub- 
jected. 

The  line  of  northern  horizon  was  generally  at  the  Court- 
house. The  water-tower  on  the  North  Side  and  the  factories 
on  Rush  street  were  the  only  visible  objects  known  to  be  on 
the  North  Side.  As  the  two  men  walked  along  the  hot  path 
of  the  street-car  track,  on  State  street,  northward,  and  peered 
between  the  Post-office  and  the  Tribune  ruins,  the  great  plain 
of  the  North  Side  spread  out  again  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach.  Daniel  knew  this  without  seeing  it,  because  he  had 
been  penned  in  by  the  flames.  i 

"  My  God  !  "  said  the  city  editor,  and  spake  no  other  word. 

Central  in  the  North  Side  a  wooden  building  stands  spared. 
It  is  the  Ogden  mansion,  situated,  like  the  White  House  at 
Washington,  in  fine  grounds,  with  a  small  park  in  front. 
Fine  history,  that,  the  emotions  of  its  inmates  at  its  strange 
protection.  Strange  circumstance,  that  its  owner  should  be 
the  chief  loser  at  Peshtigo,  where  in  the  same  fatal  hours  a 
more  terrible  fire  swept  on — of  which  man  cares  nothing. 

The  wooden  pavement  did  not  burn.  Patches  of  it,  under 
blow-pipe  heat,  charred,  but  it  was  essentially  as  good  as  new 
and  most  of  it  was  brand-new.  Dig  you  down  now,  eighteen 
inches  below  Chicago,  and  you  shall  see  it.  Solemn  reminder, 
even  to  the  spectators  of  that  week,  that  there  has  been 
another  Chicago  here. 

But  though  the  wooden  pavement  did  not  burn,  it  was  a 
stubborn  holder  of  heat.  Midway  in  the  ruins  of  the  South 


254  DANIEL  TRENTWORT11Y. 

Side  either  man  would  have  purchased  escape  at  a  fair  price. 
The  feet  swelled,  leather  cracked,  and  the  men  thought  best 
to  seek  the  lake  shore. 

A  thousand  bags  of  cement  lay  nicely  arranged  and  neatly 
tied.  The  men  strove  to  believe  their  eyes.  Why  should 
cement  protect  gunny-bagging  ?  It  had  not.  The  cement 
was  solid  rock — sculptured  into  bags. 

Kegs  of  nails  lay  piled  up  as  carefully  as  when  put  into 
that  cellar.  The  very  angles  of  the  stave  showed  on  their 
sides.  Often  nowadays  a  resident  will  show  you  a  fused  keg 
of  nails  as  a  relic  of  the  fortune  he  once  possessed. 

Other  adventurers,  seeing  Daniel  and  the  editor,  came 
forth.  Many  were  sickened  by  the  smell  of  the  elevators 
and  the  sugar  and  molasses  warehouses.  Spices,  coffees,  and 
rags  gave  off  their  odors,  with  now  and  then  a  man  falling 
from  deadly  fumes,  as  happened  before  Heath  &  Milligan's 
storehouse  of  paints  and  oils. 

The  owners  of  safes  and  vaults  were  early  on  the  ground. 
A  little  group  gazed  at  the  cellar  of  a  drug  store.  Far  back 
lay  a  skeleton,  clearly  defined,  as  white  as  a  grandmammy's 
pipe  after  burning  in  the  coals. 

"Poor  fellow  !  "  they  lamented.  "  He  worked  all  the  time 
and  slept  between  prescriptions.  A  druggist's  life  is  a  hard 
one." 

"  Yes,"  assented  the  druggist  in  question,  who  stood  look- 
ing on.  "  That  was  my  skeleton."  Somebody  was  discover- 
ing the  wires  in  the  bones. 

The  trunks  of  trees  were  prominent  and  grateful  remem- 
brances of  the  past.  On  the  North  Side  the  most  pronounced 
grief  was  expressed  over  their  loss.  Buildings  could  be 
erected.  Trees  must  grow. 

The  transformation  in  the  city's  appearance  dazed  every- 
body. So  many  things  had  happened  that  were  peculiar  to 
the  surprising  heat  of  this  fire  that  the  Chicagoan  was  ready 
to  believe  whatever  were  told  him.  There  had  been  a  city 


THE  HOWLING  OF  A  DOO.  255 

here,  a    great  part  of  which  was  brick,  mortar,  and   stone. 
Where  now  were  these  materials  ? 

They  had  burned. 

Plaster  and  limestone  had  offered  to  the  blow-pipe  the 
lacking  constituents  of  Drummond  light.  The  fire  that  had 
shown  on  the  jeweled  dome  of  the  Court-house  was  not  of 
antimony.  It  was  lime  light. 

Getting  their  feet  cool  in  the  lake  basin,  Daniel  and  the 
city  editor  started  for  the  long  walk  across  the  Randolph 
street  bridge.  They  stopped  for  nothing,  having  learned 
their  lesson.  They  tarried  not  to  guess  how  that  cellarful 
of  fused  log-chains  could  be  brought  forth.  They  passed  but 
a  moment  of  wonder  at  the  emporium  of  the  finest  chinaware, 
where  no  piece  was  loose,  though  thousands  of  articles  were 
unbroken.  The  glass  of  the  town  was  in  all  shapes,  colors 
and  situations.  One  might  see  a  keg  of  padlocks  glace. 

The  eloquent  of  the  earth  were  already  arriving  and  stand- 
ing at  the  edges  of  the  Event,  putting  it  in  fitting  words.  The 
world  already  knew  of  the  catastrophe.  What  would  it  say  ? 

"Dan,  they'll  starve,"  the  city  editor  said  gloomily.  Oh, 
that  the  world  were  not  so  bent  on  its  own  doings  !  The 
editor  felt  sure  some  one  would  give  something  if  it  were 
only  known — if  he  could  have  gotten  out  his  paper. 

They  reached  the  bridge  in  safety.  They  saw  wagons 
driving  from  the  depot. 

"  Why,  Dan,"  screamed  the  city  editor,  "  it's  food,  Dan. 
It's  been  sent  here  already.  Why,  my  boy,  look  at  it.  Oli  ! 
look  at  that !  " 

He — the  stoic — he,  the  man  who  never  before  had  been 
seen  to  express  emotion — was  unable  to  walk  farther.  He 
clung  to  Daniel's  neck.  He  sat  down  and  sobbed  like  & 
little  child. 

Wagon  after  wagon  came  from  the  depot.  Bread,  barrels 
of  hams,  pies — the  larder  of  the  land  of  plenty.  "  Eat,  and 
think  not,  for  a  little  while  !  "  said  the  Land  of  Plenty. 


256  DANIEL  TRENTWORT11Y. 

Oh  !  world  that  we  had  often  reviled — world  that  we  of 
hard  hearts  had  said  was  deaf  to  the  wail  of  the  sufferer — how 
now  can  we  eat  for  the  rising  of  the  apple  in  our  throats  ? 
There,  at  the  depot,  stands  the  committeeman  from  every 
town.  His  badge  will  tell  you  the  name  of  his  noble  com- 
munity. The  wheels  of  his  train,  are  they  not  hot  with 
the  speed  that  has  been  made  to  stay  this  unparalleled 
Hunger  ? 

"Eat,  eat!"  he  cries  in  a  rage  of  charity,  and  the  gaunt 
specter  that  had  skulked  in  Ate's  path  goes  away  forever,  as 
we  do  hope  Ate  herself  may  have  gone. 

The  dust  has  blown  until  men's  eyes  are  no  longer  capable 
of  common  tears.  Yet  men  will  tell  you  there  were  wet 
eyes  when  that  train-load  came  in. 

Daniel  and  the  editor  parted  company,  "Come  back  and 
read  proof  when  you  have  found  your  people,"  said  the  editor 
cheerily.  "  Always  a  place  for  you.  We've  got  the  out-fit, 
sure." 

Yes,  when  he  had  found  his  people !  It  recalled  the 
fearful  hours  Daniel  had  passed,  and  he  ran  once  more. 
Southward  on  Clinton  street  he  labored,  vaguely  hoping 
to  get  news  there.  How  impotent  he  felt !  How  he  had 
been  defeated  at  every  turn  in  this  fire.  Impatient 
feeling  of  all  spectators  that  week !  There,  thank  God ! 
was  the  house,  its  southern  side  the  boundary  of  the 
burnt  district.  He  had  once  had  hopes  and  fears  here. 
That  must  be  fifty  years  ago.  Here  he  might  find  that 
Mercy  was  safe.  Of  course  she  was  safe,  he  said  !  Oh ! 
why  had  he  not  hurried  south  and  west  by  Twelfth  street  ? 
And  yet  Mrs.  Trenton  was  burned  out,  beyond  question. 
He  had,  just  a  half  hour  ago,  peered  past  Lincoln  Park  on 
the  horizon.  The  fire  had  taken  it  all.  Well,  then,  Mercy 
would  return  home  here,  would  she  not  ? 

These  were  his  emotions  as  the  servant  opened  the  door. 
Her  face  made  him  turn  pale.  He  thought  he  should  fall. 


BUREAUCRACY,  ETC.  257 

for  he  was  weak.  He  had  not  slept  since  Sunday  forenoon. 
He  thought  he  should  die  from  insomnia. 

In  those  days  it  was  not  well  known  that  a  man  could 
live  with  little  sleep.  It  was  four  or  five  years  afterward 
that  the  go-as-you-please  pedestrians  demonstrated  that  a 
man  could  exist  for  a  week  with  an  hour  of  slumher  a  day. 

Daniel  looked  at  that  hopeless  face  once  more.  "Well, 
Sarah,"  he  said,  not  daring  to  ask  a  question,  "  here  I  am,  at 
last,"  and  smiled  a  sickly  way. 

That  was  enough.  The  girl's  apron  went  to  her  wet  eyes. 
Her  loud  lament  began  :  "  Oh,  Mr.  Daniel " — the  tempest 
grew — "  Mr.  Fullmer  was  here  last  night." 

"Yes,"  said  Daniel,  despairingly. 

"He  said  that  Mercy,  Mary,  yourself  and  Errington  were 
burned  and  were  none  of  you  at  Fullerton  avenue.  He  said 
that  Harmon  died  just  before  the  fire.  And  what  do  you 
think,  Mr.  Daniel,  dear  old  Mrs.  Holebroke  is  clean  gone 
crazy." 

The  girl's  moans,  uninterrupted  by  words,  filled  the  house. 
The  house-dog,  unnerved  not  less  than  other  faithful  friends 
of  that  stricken  family,  set  up  a  dismal  howl. 

The  exhausted  young  man  sank  upon  a  sofa  and  gazed 
stolidly  at  the  loudly  crying  girl. 

Yes,  that  howling  of  dog  was  always  for  the  dead  ! 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

BUREAUCRACY  FOR  ALL  WHO  LOVED  AUTHORITY. 

THIS,  then,  was  the  measure  which  Daniel  must  drink. 
Here  were  the  lees.  Mercy  was  burned.  His  dead  must  be 
denied  to  him.  How  hard  was  the  fate  of  those  mourners 
who  must  mourn  without  the  dust  of  their  lost  ones  !  We 

17 


258  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

have  since  seen  a  widow  pay  fabulous  sums  to  the  thieves 
who  stole  her  husband's  body.  But  what  corse  did  Ate  re- 
store to  loving  hands  ? 

This  was  Daniel's  message.  His  mind  refused  to  act  on  it. 
liather  did  he  smile  and  do  the  girl  that  justice  which  she 
merited  for  putting  these  household  goods  so  quickly  back  in 
place. 

Then  he  made  her  repeat  all  that  news.  He  went  over  it 
methodically.  At  last  his  glimmering  intelligence  seized  on 
the  statement  of  his  own  death. 

"  You  are  sure  Mr.  Fullmer  said  I,  too,  burned  up  ?  "  he 
asked,  with  eagerness. 

Yes,  the  girl  was  sure. 

Then  Fullmer  was  speaking  from  rumor.  He  had  not  seen 
it.  Out  of  this  one  thing  Daniel  gathered  hope. 

"  Mercy  will  come  back,"  he  said.  "  Mary  and  Errington 
will  not  come  back." 

Then  other  important  questions  arose.  Was  Mrs.  Trenton 
burned  out  ?  No,  not  when  Fullmer  left,  but  the  fire  was 
still  corning  toward  them. 

To  Fullmer's.  The  two  men  grasped  each  other  by  the 
hand  as  though  they  had  been  separated  for  twenty  years. 
The  good  man  was  optimistic.  Daniel  might  find  Mercy.  "  I 
have  kept  a  sharp  look-out,"  lie  said.  "  Don't  give  her  up, 
Dan."  It  made  Fullmer  hopeful  to  see  Daniel  come  to  life. 

Fullmer  had  the  gossip  of  the  neighborhood.  The  city 
offices  were  at  the  First  Congregational  Church,  on  Washing- 
ton and  Ann  streets.  Thither  Daniel  had  better  go,  report 
the  loss  of  Mary's  body,  and  give  a  description  of  Mercy. 
That  would  aid  more  than  going  to  Fullerton  avenue. 

So,  Avhile  the  sun  shone  brightly,  and  the  thoroughfares 
on  the  West  Side  appeared  as  in  a  holiday,  Daniel  went  out 
Washington  street.  At  Green  street  he  found  a  church 
open,  feeding  all  who  came.  "  Oh  !  sir,  will  you  not  cut 
bread  awhile  ?  "  a  sweet  lady  asked  at  the  curbstone.  How 


BUREAUCltACf,  ETC.  259 

could  Daniel  refuse  ?  Deep  as  was  his  affliction,  pitiable  as 
were  his  losses,  why  should  he  not  seize  that  knife  and  give 
bread  to  the  hungry  ?  How  to  tell  the  needy  from  the 
merely  hungry  ?  Ah  !  the  merely  hungry  stand  on  the  curb 
and  cry,  and  speak  of  a  charity  that  the  world  has  not  seen 
since  the  other  birth — in  the  other  manger. 

How  to  tell  the  needy  ?  Ah  !  this  city  has  been  chastened 
of  its  sins.  Do  not  believe  its  people  to  be  beneath  all  other 
creatures  in  gratitude  ! 

Let  Daniel  pass  on  to  city  offices.  It  is  enough  to  see  these 
church  people  cutting  the  world's  bread.  To-night  they  will 
be  sorting  out  the  world's  garments,  put  upon  the  naked  of 
the  North  Side. 

To-morrow  the  great  pang  of  charity  shall  spare  no  giver 
in  the  whole  Caucasian  earth.  To-morrow  the  encampments 
on  the  North,  on  the  East,  shall  take  hope.  To-morrow  shall 
begin  that  spontaneous  contribution,  unequalled  in  ex-tent — 
sole  gauge  of  the  true  grandeur  of  our  calamity. 

Ninety  towns  in  New  York  $400,000.  Forty-seven  towns 
in  Massachusetts,  $300,000.  Sixty-three  towns  in  Penn- 
sylvania, $230,000.  Other  states  and  territories,  thirty- 
seven  in  all,  $1,000,000.  Other  nations,  England,  because 
she  spoke  our  language,  $425,000;  Canada,  her  province, 
$82,000;  France,  Germany,  Austria,  Cuba,  Italy,  Holland, 
China,  $200,000  more. 

Each  Christian  on  earth  giving  at  least  a  penny  in  coin  to 
the  suffering  city.  The  nation  showering  its  privileges  on  the 
town.  The  citizens  of  that  day  taking  off  their  coats  and 
sending  thorn.  The  treasure-keepers  with  $3,000,000  on 
hand,  and  counted  not  an  ounce  of  food  or  a  garment  in  the 
reckoning. 

If  the  fire  were  not  the  event  of  the  century  in  itself,  then 
all  fair-minded  men  must  accord  the  palm  to  this  giving  that 
was  called  out.  The  left  hand  of  the  world  did  not  know 
what  its  right  hand  did.  Whf>n  the  great  city  of  London 


260  DANIEL  TRENTWOETHT. 

gave  $312,000,  she  did  not  know  that  the  little  city  of  Port- 
land, in  Oregon,  was  giving  $10,000. 

Let  there  be  two  bead-rolls  written  of  those  blessed  givers, 
and  let  the  bead-rolls  be  put  under  the  twain  of  monuments, 
lest  men  grow  forgetful,  as  ages  roll  away  from  acts  so  au- 
gust, of  those  other  acts  so  creditable  to  the  human  species  ! 

On  every  side  of  this  wide  street  now,  tumult  as  at  a  fair. 
Thirst  and  dust.  Men  with  women  on  their  arms.  A  lover 
with  maiden,  seeking  minister.  Wagons,  always  loaded  with 
food.  People's  faces  lighted  by  the  smile  of  the  world's  love. 

A  queue  of  men  and  boys  from  the  church  on  Washington 
street  along  to  Elizabeth,  thence  to  Madison,  along  Madison 
to  Ada.  What  do  they  wish  ?  To  flee.  Passes.  All  day^ 
all  night,  till  noon  of  Wednesday.  The  railroads  will  carry 
every  one  free,  if  the  pass  can  be  obtained  from  the  city. 
Church  girls,  without  food  at  home,  glad  to  work  here, 
sitting  at  tables,  filling  in  passes.  A  loaf  of  bread  and  a 
coat  for  this  man.  Take  this  lady  above  into  the  main 
room.  Give  her  a  pew  to  lie  in.  She  goes  up-stairs  and 
finds  her  husband  there.  Meetings  like  these  filling  the 
handsome  auditorium  with  happy  echoes.  A  directory  of 
city  magnates  in  the  rear  room.  Was  ever  office  so  bare  of 
honor  ? 

Police  to  be  appointed.  A  boy  in  a  barn  near  by  print- 
ing "Police"  on  blue  ribbon.  Five  thousand  patrols  already 
sworn  in.  Fires  ordered  out,  except  at  bakeries.  Water 
wagons  and  bread  wagons  impressed  into  the  city's  service. 
Plenty  of  generals  on  hand,  with  a  smack  of  military  rule 
come  back.  A  good  thing,  too,where  expressmen  have  begun 
to  look  scornfully  at  a  hundred  dollars  Schoolhouses  and 
churches  all  ordered  open.  Delegations  arriving  from  all 
cities  ;  some,  tools  in  hand.  Incoming  of  stupendous  larder 
of  the  Mississippi  Valley.  P>arrels  of  chickens,  turkeys,  hams 
Kerosene  and  tobacco  forbidden.  The  price  of  bread  put  at 
eight  cents  a  loaf.  George  Peabody,  $100.000.  Alexander  T. 


"BUREAUCRACY,  ETC.  261 

Stewart,  $50,000.  Exodus,  exodus  !  Trains  of  forty  cars  on 
every  road,  carry  ing  forth  men  who  two  days  ago  were  rich — 
to-day  beggars — no,  not  beggars,  but  succored  in  their  need. 
Proclamations  of  governors.  Special  session  of  the  Illinois 
Legislature.  General  tumult  of  mankind  to  adjust  the  Event. 

Into  this  maelstrom  of  military  bureaucracy  (rapidly  thriv- 
ing), poor  Daniel  Trentworthy !  To  him,  some  official  of 
police  ;  yes,  the  lake  will  be  dragged  for  Mary  and  for  all  other 
bodies.  Description  of  Mercy.  Never  mind  color  of  dress. 
Description  of  Mary.  Not  known  to  be  dead.  Yes,  the 
morgue  will  be  established  on  Milwaukee  avenue,  at  the  city 
undertaker's.  Next. 

Daniel  must  pass  on.  Bah !  it  is  his  own  beautiful 
Mercy  whom  they  thus  dismiss  so  summarily.  He  goes 
outside,  begrudges  the  hours  he  has  stood  en  queue  and  takes 
solace  in  the  charity  of  the  whole  earth.  For  all  men  cry 
out  when  they  speak  of  that. 

Patrolmen,  a  half  hour  in  service,  march  by,  like  Moriarity. 
An  officer  with  a  real  star  hides  it  in  shame.  Water-carts 
sprinkle  throats,  not  streets ;  hackmen  are  meek  "  rescuers," 
doing  the  service  of  bureaucracy.  The  wind  is  again  growing. 
The  vigil  for  fire  in  every  household  is  beginning.  The  city 
has  lost  $200,000,000,  in  goods  and  belongings.  Not  leaven 
is  purged  from  household  in  Jewry  with  more  fervor  than 
fire  from  the  hearthstones  of  unburned  Chicago  this  day 
and  night. 

The  ruins  seethe,  and  terror,  as  in  1793,  becomes  the  order 
of  the  day. 

One  hundred  thousand  people  wonder  what  will  become 
of  them.  Five  hundred  thousand  people  wonder  what  will 
become  of  Chicago.  Unsentimental  masons  and  contractors, 
keen  and  cold  in  their  opportunity,  journeying  thitherward 
from  the  ends  of  the  nation. 

Good  wives  boiling  the  water  from  duck  ponds  in  parks, 
with  much  fear  of  flux.  Workmen  and  clerks  on  Canal 


262  DANIEL  TBENTWOBTUY. 

street  drinking  river  water  strongly  impregnated  with  anthra- 
cite coal.     Everybody  a  convalescent. 

A  happy  autumn  sun  in  the  western  sky.      Daniel  looking 
oil  the  fields  of  fire  and  thinking  of  the  days"that  are  no  more. 


CHAPTER  XXX IV. 

PASSING    ALONG   NOBLE    STKKKT. 

"HOMEWARD!"  At  last,  Daniel,  starting  for  Fullerton 
avenue  at  4  o'clock  Monday  morning,  was  now  late  on  Tues- 
day afternoon,  about  to  set  out  for  Fullerton  avenue,  to  see 
what  had  become  of  the  few  friends  who  had  been  left  to  him 
by  this  destruction  of  a  wooden  Gomorrah.  There  was 
much  he  desired  to  do.  He  could  barely  desist  from  again 
penetrating  the  burnt  district,  and  going  to  the  north  lake 
shore.  He  wanted  to  find  that  morgue.  But  people  were 
Avarned  that  the  patrolmen  at  night  would  be  very  strict 
with  wayfarers.  Lights  must  be  out  about  as  soon  as  lit. 
There  were  to  be  no  more  evenings  in  Chicago.  If  Daniel 
expected  to  reach  those  camps  on  the  northern  prairies,  he 
must  hurry  thither. 

Yet  it  was  possible  that,  in  going  north,  Daniel  could  strike 
the  business  street  called  Milwaukee  avenue,  which  cut  di- 
rectly into  the  city  from  the  northwest.  The  city  undertaker 
Daniel  had  heard,  lived  on  this  street.  The  morgue,  some 
experienced  policeman  suggested,  would  probably  be  estab- 
lished near  the  undertaker's  place  of  business. 

If  the  unhappy  young  man  could  oidy  find  Mercy's  body 
he  might  better  endure  his  hard  fate.  Fullmer  had  told 
him  how  she  had  left  the  Fullerton  avenue  residence  in  search 


PARSING  ALONG  NOBLE  STREET.  263 

of  the  man  she  loved.  If  Daniel  could  but  secure  her 
sacred  dust,  no  matter  how  charred,  how  repulsive  to  others, 
he  would  live  that  he  might  rear  a  stone  over  her  grave  and 
go  thither  to  recall  the  features  of  her  who  was  the  loveliest 
of  Eve's  daughters.  His  nerves  were  in  a  had  state. 
His  eyes  were  as  hot  as  they  had  been  on  Monday  in  the 
lime-dust  of  Michigan  avenue. 

And  then,  in  the  blindness  of  his  grief,  he  recurred  to 
Mary.  He  could  not  find  Mercy.  Probably  she  was  burned. 
In  that  terrible  heat  there  were  no  remains  of  human  beings. 
In  the  great  soap  vats,  heated  by  coils  of  pipe,  filled  with  pot 
ash  and  fats,  if  a  workman  become  engulfed,  nothing  is  left 
save  maybe  a  half-eaten  key,  or  a  persistent  metal  button 
frame.  So  in  Phlegethon,  which  coiled  iron  columns 
around  tiny  wires,  which  wound  T-rail  as  the  electrician 
winds  his  silk  armature.  What  hope  to  find  the  dead — his 
fragile  Mercy  ?  Ah,  that  was  bitter  !  But  Mary  lay  in  Lake 
Michigan.  She  was  Mercy's  sister.  She  had  Mercy's  blood. 
She  had  loved  him.  He  would  not  think  of  those  moments 
on  the  grand  staircase.  He  would  be  thankful  that  her 
body  would  be  given  up,  and  that  he  might  shield  it  from 
the  general  burial  of  Ate's  dead. 

He  journeyed  far  out  Milwaukee  avenue.  At  every  block 
he  obtained  less  and  less  information.  He  must  not  go 
back.  The  sun  was  descending.  The  quarter  was  German 
and  Eastern  European.  He  was  going  northwestward. 
He  must  strike  directly  north.  He  came  to  a  wide  and  pop- 
ulous street  of  a  prosperous  look,  where  people  were  neigh- 
borly. It  was  Noble  street.  He  turned  with  his  ever  present 
feeling  of  defeat  and  entered  the  new  route. 

Now  he  only  desired  to  hasten.  He  could  not  find  the 
morgue  to-night.  His  face  was  still  blackened,  as  there  was 
no  water  to  be  had  by  wayfarers  beyond  the  needs  of  the 
thirsty.  To  have  a  blackened  face  was  a  badge  of  residence. 
It  was  not  an  interloper,  at  least,  the  householders  would 


264  DANIEL  TRENT  WORTHY. 

say.  As  he  walked  by  a  comfortable  residence  a  wan  face 
and  two  great  black  eyes  gave  a  start  and  pondered  upon  his 
carriage.  It  was  a  young  woman,  sitting  inside  by  a  win- 
dow. She  had  not  seen  the  face,  and  she  was  too  weak  to  rise 
and  go  to  the  door.  The  games  of  the  children  drowned  his 
footfalls,  for  she  could  easily  have  decided  by  that  sound. 
He  was  out  of  her  sight.  Her  heart  fluttered. 

"Pshaw!"  she  moaned,  "  every  man  I  see  of  his  age 
seems  to  be  Daniel." 

Her  faithful  friend  came  in.  "Why,  you  look  feverish," 
he  cried  in  alarm,  seizing  her  hand  and  frightened  at  her 
bounding  pulse.  "Here!  The  brandy — quick!" 

"  I  guess  I  will  lie  down,"  she  said,  and  accepted  his  aid. 

"  I  urged  her  to  sit  up,"  he  thought,  regretfully.  "  How 
little  I  know  about  women  ! " 

She  lay  there  and  rapidly  regained  her  composure.  In 
what  a  sorry  plight  does  cruel  Nature  put  the  maid  when  the 
stranger  has  come  between  her  and  all  she  holds  dear  !  She 
thinks  of  him  all  the  time.  She  holds  him  next  to  her  Lord. 
It  is  well  till  she  speaks  of  him.  Then  she  must  explain  the 
case  to  others — and  the  case  is  inconceivable.  She  dis- 
guises, avoids,  denies.  He  who  is  everything  is  nothing. 
He  is  a  stranger. 

Now  this  maiden  lay  in  the  house  of  the  Christian 
brothers — not  monks — but  equally  good  men.  She  had  on 
her  mind  the  loss  of  her  dearest  one.  Yet  that  dearest  one 
was  the  stranger,  for  whom  she  had  left  her  own  mother  and 
the  dead  body  of  her  brothers. 

She  was  ashamed  to  admit  the  naturalness  of  her  act,  it 
seemed  so  basely  unnatural.  She  wept. 

"  It  is  not  good  to  cry,"  he  said,  uncomfortably.  He  per- 
haps ought  to  leave  her.  Instead,  he  bathed  her  forehead. 

"  Oh  !  sir,"  she  said,  "  I  wanted  you  to  come.  I  have  a 
dead  brother  at  No.  631  Fullerton  avenue,  and  my  mother 
will  be  crazy  with  anguish — I  know  she  will," 


PASSING  ALONG  NOBLE  STREET.  265 

"  That  is  very  serious,"  said  the  young  man,  "  why  did 
you  not  tell  my  sister-in-law  sooner  ?  " 

"I  had  just  come  to  my  mind  when  you  assisted  me  to 
the  chair.  I  was  about  to  speak  to  you  when  you  were 
called  out." 

"It  is  serious,"  the  young  man  said,  "  because  the  quarter 
you  mention  is  burned,  and  we  have  orders  not  to  move  out 
of  our  houses  after  6  o'clock,  except  to  go  for  a  doctor, 
maybe.  In  the  morning,  however,  I  will  go  into  the  camp- 
ing grounds  on  the  prairie  and  in  Lincoln  Park,  and  try  my 
best  to  find  your  people." 

How  heartlessly  she  had  deserted  her  kin — how  she  had 
left  that  feeble  mother  to  battle  with  affliction — that  mother, 
too,  who  had  failed  so  rapidly  since  Harmon  had  sickened  ! 
So  Nature  scourged  the  girl.  Sometimes  the  funnel  of  a  tor- 
nado strikes  a  field  of  daisies  in  an  unsettled  region,  and 
plows  the  ground  for  a  hundred  feet.  Strange  clash  of  juris- 
diction among  Nature's  overseers?  Sometimes  a  judge  of 
court  attaches  a  citizen  for  obe}ring  another  judge  of  court. 
Bustle  of  lawyers  in  court ;  turmoil  of  emotions  in  Mercy, 
and  finally,  a  little  peace  in  apology  for  the  flesh.  "  I  ex- 
pected to  go  back  to  Clark  street,"  she  said  to  herself. 

"  They  are  very  strict,  are  they  not  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  It  is  military  rule,"  he  said. 

How  could  she  broach  the  subject  which  vras  of  most  im- 
portance ? 

"I  went  to  look  for  my  sister.  A  friend  had  remained  at 
Ohio  street  to  remove  both  her  and  her  sick  husband.  I 
fear  all  three  were  burned." 

Now  she  wept  convulsively,  and  the  crime  stood  confessed. 
As  the  children  of  Israel  had  sold  their  brother,  so  she  had 
sold  brother,  sister  and  mother. 

"  I  fear  Daniel  Trentworthy  is  dead  ! " 

The  young  rescuer's  pity  gave  way  to  the  suddenness  of 
his  astonishment, 


266  DANIEL  TRENTWOKTUY. 

"  Daniel  Trentworthy  !  " 

"  Yes." 

"A  young  man,  who  was  once  the  son  of  a  great  financier, 
who  was  educated  at  Harvard,  and  left  there  abruptly,  con- 
cealing his  subsequent  movements  ?  "  So  asked  the  young 
man. 

"  Yes,  but  I  know  nothing  of  concealment.  He  is  a  young 
man,  not  very  old — not  twenty- four." 

"That  is  my  own  cousin.  We  have  sought  him  for  five 
years,  almost." 

Strange  coincidence !  One  of  those  countless  episodes 
that  uphold  be.lief  in  especial  providence. 

The  girl's  face  glowed  with  pleasure.  The  young  man 
spread  the  news  iu  the  .household.  The  members  gathered 
in  her  room  and  took  a  renewed  interest  in  their  beautiful 
charge. 

They  had  but  lately  come  to  Chicago,  attracted  hither  by 
its  glory.  How  sad  this  news  !  As  sad  as  Chicago's  glory ! 
Inquiries,  now,  as  to  morgues,  hospitals,  and  the  search  for 
the  dead.  Mercy  bettered  at  once.  She  told  them  of 
Daniel's  hairbreadth  escape  from  death. 

"  He'll  pull  through  yet,"  the  family  said. 

And  yet,  the  proper  place  for  which  to  look  was  the 
morgue.  There  was  a  paper  to-night,  which  promised  to  be 
of  service  in  these  matters.  There  would  be  a  Tribune  to- 
morrow morning. 

The  family  could  not  talk  enough  about  Daniel,  and  the 
maiden  had  never  before  had  any  good  opportunity  to  dis- 
cuss him.  Hope  led  her  on.  She  recited  the  smash-up  in 
the  tunnel,  and  gave  the  awful  scene  on  the  wires.  The 
family  held  their  breath.  She  dwelt  upon  the  goodness  of 
Mrs.  Trenton,  and  the  long  illness  two  years  before. 

Yes,  the  maiden  admitted,  she  had  nursed  Daniel,  and 
therefore  she  took  on  new  claims  to  the  kinsman's  attention. 
They  could,  not  see  her  blushes.  They  must  surely  seek 


A  SLEEP.  267 

these  Trentons  and  succor  them.  Undoubtedly  a  branch  of 
the  same  family,  the  married  Trentworthy  declared,  and  got 
down  his  genealogical  treatise. 

They  left  her  with  added  tendernesses,  addressed  to  hoi- 
comfort  for  the  second  night.  She  was  almost  happy.  She 
had  gone  to  the  stranger's  tribe.  Strange  and  peremptory 
adjustment !  Then,  as  the  street  grew  still,  tears  for  Har- 
mon, agonies  for  Daniel,  longings  for  mother — desolation. 

Outside,  patrolmen  not  yet  quit  of  their  elation  fo  be  offi- 
cers. Over  on  the  eastern  sky,  blood-red  clouds.  In  august 
line,  along  the  four  miles  of  bayous,  bright  pyramids  of  an- 
thracite coal,  no  more  to  be  quenched  than  nether  fires. 
Angry  winds  and  falling  walls.  Prayers  to  the  Father  that 
the  gale  should  not  turn  from  its  present  harmless  course. 
Sleep  for  many  for  the  first  time  since  Friday  night.  The 
Event  already  on  its  journey  to  the  far  ages. 


CHAPTEH  XXXV. 

ASLEEP. 

DANIEL,  this  solemn  Tuesday  afternoon,  hurried  onward, 
crossed  the  northern  ba^you  at  a  railroad  startion,  and  entered 
Clybourn  avenue,  another  important  diagonal  street  that, 
like^the  north  branch  of  the  river,  had  cut  its  way  southeast- 
ward into  the  North  Division.  To  his  surprise  he  saw  the 
buildings  hero  were  not  burned,  although  he  was  now  on  the 
North  Side.  However,  he  had  not  far  to  look  to  the  east- 
ward to  see  that  same  black  and  level  plain.  He  followed 
the  avenue  northwestward,  and  was  soon  among  the  campers. 
It  was  dusk.  He  began  to  think  better  of  the  bureaucrats 
a.t  Washington  and  Ann  streets,  for  here,  too,  were  bread 


268  DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY. 

wagons  and  barrels  of  cooked  food.  There  was  a  sound  and 
flash  of  new  tinware.  A  buggy  would  serve  as  a  rest  for 
boards  from  a  sidewalk.  Under  this  roof  would  lie  little 
children  with  bleeding  feet — children  whose  escape  from 
death  had  been  marvelous.  Men,  worn  out,  like  Daniel,  were 
wrapped  in  blankets,  asleep,  such  mostly  veteran  soldiers, 
somewhat  proud  of  their  ability  to  forget  the  battles  of  the 
previous  day.  Women  were  sobbing  nervously.  Why  should 
they  not  ?  Would  not  years  and  decades  stretch  out,  and 
never  the  peace  and  shade  and  luxury  of  that  North  Side 
come  again  ? 

Let  them  sob  on,  and  men  light  their  lanterns,  and  Daniel 
look  eastward  on  Fullerton  avenue.  It  is  a  long  distance  to 
that  black  plain.  His  heart  suddenly  thumps.  Why  not 
walk  that  way  and  find  the  ruins  of  Mrs.  Trenton's  house  ? 
No  one  has  seen  her  party.  There  has  been  no  group  of 
refugees  with  a  body  on  a  window  blind  ! 

He  walks  down  Fullerton  avenue.  Can  he  believe  his 
eyes?  There  is  the  very  house.  It  is  not  burned,  although 
the  fence  and  the  yard  are  in  that  odious  burned  district. 

U0h!  Daniel  !  thank  God  ! "  It  is  Mrs.  Trenton,  and  the 
young  man  is  at  last  at  home,  and  has  a  home  left  over  his 
head. 

"Did  you  find  her  ?  "  he  asks,  beseechingly. 

"No,  Daniel.  She  is  dead.  She  was  seen  going  westward 
on  Chicago  avenue  after  the  blacksmith  shop  took  fire,  and 
none  of  those  people  got  over  the  bridge."  Mrs.  Trenton 
wept. 

"  You  mean  Mercy — not  Mary  ?  " 

"  Yes,'"'  they  are  both  lost — that  is,  Mercy  is  surely  lost. 
Mary  may  have  escaped  southward,  they  say." 

"No,  Mary's  body  is  in  the  lake." 

The  heart-broken  man  told  them  how  he  had  lost  the  gray 
woman.  They  told  him,  once  more,  how  Mercy  had  stolen 
away  to  search  for  him. 


ASLEEP.  269 

"Come  up-stairs,  Daniel,"  they  said. 

"Here,  mother,  is  Daniel.     Here  is  your  son." 

"  Did  you  bring  Harmon  and  Mary  ?  Did  you  meet 
Mercy  ?  Good,  Daniel,  my  son.  Sit  here,  Daniel,  and 
hold  my  hand.  Mercy  has  gone  after  Mary  and  poor 
Ralph.  Say,  Daniel,  do  you  think  Mary  is  wise  to  nurse 
Kalph  so  closely  ?  I  fear  she  will  be  poisoned.  Daniel,  do 
you  think  my  chickens  will  get  fed  ?  That  black  rooster 
lights.  I'm  sure  of  it.  Come  over,  Daniel,  to  see  Mercy, 
and  I'll  put  him  in  the  pot." 

She  smiled  grimly. 

"I  must  be  going,"  she  said.  "It's  two  rides  on  the  cars. 
It's  a  long  way.  Mercy  ought  to  hurry." 

Daniel's  cup  was  full.  Yet  this  old  mother  in  Israel,  wan- 
dering in  her  speech,  was  only  one  of  hundreds.  There  were 
sainted  hearts  out  in  the  park,  who  had  not  even  a  board  to 
lean  against  a  fence,  who  were  thenceforth,  to  remain  dead 
in  life.  Such  it  was,  who  could  not  look  on  Ate  and  retain 
their  reason. 

Mrs.  Trenton  was  afraid  Daniel,  too,  would  lose  his  mind. 
But  he  asked  to  see  Harmon's  body. 

"I  did  not  see  him  at  Ohio  street,"  he  shuddered. 

"  We  took  him  to  the  cemetery  to-day,"  she  answered. 

Mechanically  he  started  for  the  door.  He  would  go  to  the 
cemetery.  The  good  lady  laid  hold  on  him,  and  led  him  to 
his  own  room. 

"There,  Daniel,"  she  said,  "take  this  glass  and  drink  it. 
Lie  down.  Here  is  water.  Wash  as  little  as  possible. 
Sleep.  There  is  nothing  else  for  you.  to  do." 

True.  He  lay  in  his  bed  and  closed  his  eyelids  on  their 
hot  balls.  He  got  a  wet  rag  and  laid  it  on  his  eyes.  He  fell 
into  a  slight  doze,  and  awoke  with  an  explosion  of  his  trifacial 
nerve.  He  quieted  once  more,  and  there  came  a  peremptory 
dispatch  that  a  vertebral  motor  was  down.  He  arose  and 
turned  to  the  wall  the  statue  flint  had  seen  Mercy  kiss  him. 


270  DANIJZL  TRENTWOIITIIY. 

He  was  next  in  Sahara,  and  his  camel  was  lying  as  an  en- 
trenchment against  sirocco.  Should  he  disembowel  the 
faithful  beast  ?  Finally,  intimations  of  Nirvana,  nothing- 
ness. He  slept. 

On  Wednesday,  in  the  Fullerton  avenue  house,  Daniel 
still  asleep.  The  doctor  in  consultation  with  Mrs.  Trenton. 

"Let  him  sleep  all  of  to-day  and  to-night — the  longer  the 
better.  How  long  ago  was  it  that  his  head  was  hurt  ?  Two 
years — hum — ah  ! — let  him  sleep.  It  will  save  his  reason. 
It  is  an  unfortunate  set  of  circumstances." 

In  the  Noble  street  house,  a  girl  seemingly  very  sick  of  a 
fever.  "A  slight  relapse,"  says  the  physician  reassuringly. 
"  Keep  her  quiet  to-day.  She  will  be  around  to-morrow. 
Nothing  chronic  or  premonitory." 

And  complete  failure  of  the  attempt  to  get  to  Fullerton 
avenue.  Magnificent  growth  of  militarism.  "  Got  a  pass 
from  General  Sheridan's  headquarters  ?  Turn  back  then  !  " 

"  Could  you  tell  me  if  Fullerton  avenue  burned  ?  " 

"  Where  is  Fullerton  avenue  ?  " 

It  is  plain  the  bayonet  has  but  just  marched  on  the  scene. 

"  Advertise  in  the  Tribune  or  Journal"  the  soldier  says. 

Wednesday  in  the  city  and  state,  the  Democratic  Gov- 
ernor of  Illinois  profoundly  indignant  to  see  a  Republican 
generalissimo  established  in  the  burnt  district.  Great  heat 
and  high  wind.  Many  people  opening  safes.  Vows  that  a 
monument  shall  be  built  of  fire-proof  safes  that  burned  all 
their  contents.  A  vow  to  be  kept,  and  the  hideous  monument 
in  Garfield  Park  to  be  torn  down  within  ten  years.  The 
safes  might  have  been  fire-proof  and  yet  not  Ate-proof. 
Shanties  erecting  in  the  burnt  district.  Barracks  in  open 
squares.  Fugitives  already  returning  to  Chicago.  The  press 
of  the  world  filled  with  fine  sentences.  "  It  is  all  it  has  been 
represented  to  be,"  say  the  eloquent. 

On  Milwaukee  avenue,  a  large  barn  in  two  compartments. 
To  this  barn,  the  dead,  all  day  of  Wednesday — all  Wednesday 


ASLEEP.  271 

night.  What  is  a  body  ?  Who  shall  say  ?  Is  this  one,  or 
is  it  two  ?  How  many,  then,  are  there  ?  Who,  too,  shall 
answer  ?  How  many  bodies  ?  Eighty,  it  is  said.  Who 
shall  deny  it  ? 

"  I  have  found  the  morgue — that  is,  I  have  found  where  it 
is,"  the  younger  Trentworthy  announced  that  night,  as  the 
girl  sat  at  the  window  once  more. 

"  I  must  go  there  to-morrow,"  she  said ;  "  did  you  put  the 
notice  in  the  paper  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  they  said,  however,  that  they  could  print  only  a 
certain  number.  If  it  did  not  go  in  to-morrow  it  would  ap- 
pear Friday." 

A  rap  at  the  door.     A  patrolman  ! 

"Lights  out!" 

It  is  Wednesday  ended.  How  strange  is  this  new  life. 
How  short  is  the  day.  How  long  is  the  night.  How  furi- 
ously the  wind  blows.  When  will  the  water  be  here !  In 
eight  days  and  five  hours  from  the  burning  of  the  works. 

James  Fisk's  great  train  is  this  night  making  sixty  miles 
an  hour  toward  Chicago.  The  Committee  of  the  Nation  has 
lifted  the  city  to  her  feet.  The  hundred  thousand  may  pass 
off  the  stage,  if  they  will.  The  new  city  is  born.  It  is 
suckled  by  the  mandate  of  the  people. 

But  men  are  full  of  dormant  rage.  Two  fools  have  fun 
with  an  Italian  saloon-keeper.  The  event  has  needed  some 
act  to  commemorate  it.  The  Italian  has  chafed  under  the 
common  impotency.  He  gladly  seized  a  great  knife  and  of- 
fers his  tormentors  to  Ate.  And  hangs  for  it,  later  on.  And 
a  negro,  saved  from  the  Court  House  basement,  is  spared  for 
a  gibbet  on  a  change  of  venue  from  Ate  to  a  county  along- 
side Cook. 


272  DANIEL  TREXTWORTHY. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

THE  NECESSITIES    VS.  THE  PKOPRIETIES. 

"  How  long  have  I  slept  ?  " 

"  Since  Tuesday  night." 

"  It  is  morning.  What  morning  ?  I  haven't  been  out  o^ 
my  head  for  three  months  more,  have  I  ?  " 

"  No,  Daniel.  You  have  simply  caught  up  with  your  sleep, 
as  you  used  to  say  when  you  were  a  proof-reader.  It  is  only 
Thursday  morning.  Here  is  a  paper.  Mr.  Trenton  paid  25  cents 
for  it — just  think  !  Daniel,  there  is  a  morgue  on  Milwaukee 
avenue.  Daniel,  you  must  go  there.  Isn't  it  dreadful  ? 
There,  I  will  not  speak  of  it  again." 

Daniel  was  only  too  glad  to  go.  He  stood  on  the  veranda 
and  looked  at  the  vast  Court  House  afar.  It  was  symbolical 
of  his  past.  Gone,  every  joyful  thing.  Gone,  everything. 
He  thought  of  the  complete  blotting  of  Ralph  Errington. 
There  remained  of  his  estate  a  mortgaged  lot  covered  with 
ashes  and  a  carriage  with  two  horses  and  harness.  Smelting 
works,  400  houses,  wife,  natural  son — everything  swept  away. 
And  yet,  one  of  some  thousands,  so  far  as  property  may  be 
reckoned. 

He  thought  of  his  own  wreck,  and  could  not  bear  the 
thought ;  and  strode  forth  to  get  Mercy's  body. 

To  Clybourn  Avenue  Station,  to  Noble  street,  down  Noble 
street,  past  the  Christian  brothers,  with  nobody  looking  out, 
down  Milwaukee  avenue,  to  crowded  alleys. 

The  Morgue. 

Men  drink  a  glassful  of  brandy  before  they  go  in  there. 
Sublime  women  go  there  without  stimulant.  There  has  been, 


THE  NEGE88ITIK8  rs.  THE  PROPRIETIES.        273 

they  say,  a  lady  in  the  farther  compartment  already,  hunt- 
ting  for  her  sister. 

Daniel  has  said  he  will  not  falter.  He  has,  in  his  time, 
seen  the  burned.  He  has  narrowly  missed  being  the  burned. 
He  is  fire-proof — more  than  the  safes  for  the  moment.  And 
yet  he  does  not  stay  in  there.  He  goes  to  a  saloon,  and  drinks 
the  first  glass  of  brandy  that  has  passed  his  lips  since  he  was 
in  the  fire  department. 

He  re-enters.  He  knows  some  ineradicable  marks  of 
Mercy.  If  she  be  there,  that  grim  brandy  drinker  will  have 
her ! 

A  terrible  half-hour  goes  by.  Mercy  and  Mary  are  not  in 
that  compartment.  It  is  settled. 

A  woman  enters  on  the  other  side — the  lady  who  had  been 
there  before. 

"  Oh,  Mary  !  Mary  !  " 

The  man  springs  out  of  that  charnel  house  as  if  he  were  shot 
from  a  catapult.  He  enters  the  other  side.  Here  is  fastened 
on  his  sight  a  white  form  among  the  black.  It  is  the  drowned 
among  the  burned.  It  is  the  only  one  in  eighty,  they  say, 
that  a  friend  might  recognize. 

But  a  live  woman  is  in  his  arms.  A  kinsman,  the  younger 
Trentworthy,  is  grasping  him  by  a  hand,  and  pulling  them 
forth,  and  getting  them  to  a  hack,  and  hurrying  an  express 
wagon  to  that  barn. 

The  dead  body  of  Mary  is  at  the  undertaker's  to  be  put  in 
proper  form  for  burial  at  William  Trentworthy's  order  and 
expense. 

The  living,  come  to  seek  the  dead,  had  found  the  living 
and  the  dead. 

"I  am  so  sorry  for  you,  Mercy,"  Daniel  said,  as  he  tried  to 
stop  her  tears. 

"  Oh  !  Daniel,  do  not  go  away  from  me  again.  I  know  I 
could  not  live." 

And  this  man,  who  had  been  taught  by  Mary  that  he  could 

18 


274  DANIEL  T11ENTWORT11Y. 

live  without  any  woman,  although  he  had  shuddered  at  the 
awful  severity  of  life  a  half  hour  before,  was  now  happy  as  a 
child  to  see  that  she  could  think  at  all  of  him  with  brother 
and  sister  dead. 

"  Your  mother  has  lost  her  reason,  Mercy,"  he  said. 

"You  will  not  desert  me,  Daniel,  will  you  ?  "  she  pleaded 
in  answer. 

Would  he  ? 

A  lunch  at  the  joyous  Trent  worthy's,  and  the  pair  were  on 
their  way  to  Mrs.  Trenton's  once  more.  They  were  happy, 
and  were  ashamed  to  be.  Yet  no  one  blamed  them. 

"  Gracious  !  "  was  Mrs.  Trenton's  great  oath.  "  Gracious  ! 
It's  the  most  remarkable  thing  I  ever  heard  of." 

"  What's  that ;  the  fire  ?  "  asked  her  husband.  "  Bully 
for  Jim  Fisk  !  "  and  he  continued  to  read  the  dispatches. 
"  Bravo  !  for  Peabody  !  Hurrah  for  Stewart !  " 

The  body  of  Mary  arrived  next  day.  It  was  buried  beside 
that  of  Harmon. 

The  house  of  Mrs.  Trenton,  being  on  the  edge  of  the 
camping-ground,  rapidly  filled  with  acquaintances  who  were 
without  shelter.  The  Trentworthy  brothers  were  desirous 
that  Daniel  should  come  with  them. 

"  We  have  been  hunting  for  him  for  five  years,"  they  said. 
"  He  is  our  kinsman."  It  meant  much  to  those  strangers  in 
this  strange  city. 

It  had  been  a  hard  day  for  Mercy.  She  was  not  yet  fairly 
strong  enough  to  be  out  of  bed,  yet  she  had  seen  brother  and 
sister  lowered  into  the  grave.  She  had  listened  to  the  wander- 
ings of  a  mother.  She  now  faced  the  future.  How  awful 
was  the  thought  of  returning  to  that  Clinton  street  house 
alone !  She  could  not  do  it.  She  sobbed  and  had  no  counsel. 
For  she  was  but  just  engaged  to  be  married.  Her  only 
protector  could  not  become  her  protector  until  a  proper  sea- 
son had  gone  by.  And  how  was  she  to  exist  in  the  mean- 
time? It  was  plain  that  Mrs.  Trenton  was  already  over- 


THE  NECESSITIES  VS.  THE  PROPRIETIES.        275 

crowded.  They,  too,  had  lost  business  and  the  accumulations 
of  years. 

These  were  Mercy's  troubles.  Vaguely  she  knew  that 
Daniel  would  help  her.  But  how  delicate  is  a  maiden's  posi- 
tion at  such  a  time  ! 

There  was  a  look  of  grim  determination  in  Mrs.  Trenton's 
eye.  The  party  was  back  from  the  cemetery.  They  ate 
their  simple  meal.  If  the  truth  be  told,  the  bread  and  meat 
had  come  on  a  charity  train  from  towns  on  the  Milwaukee 
Road.  No  one  felt  proud. 

"  There  will  be  a  family  council  in  the  parlor  directly  after 
dinner,"  she  said.  "  Mr.  Trenton,  pray  for  our  especial 
guidance." 

And  thus  they  ate,  hoping  the  Lord  would  make  clearer 
the  way. 

It  was  a  strange  thing,  this  filing  into  the  parlor,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Edson  Trenton,  Daniel  Trentworthy,  Mercy  Holebroke, 
John  and  William  Trentworthy. 

Mrs.  Trenton  spoke :  "  Friends,"  she  said,  "  this  is  a  time 
when  the  ordinary  proprieties  of  life  must  be  put  aside.  I 
have  a  matter  to  lay  before  this  group,  and  that  matter  can- 
not wait.  Mercy  Trentworthy  has  been  cast  upon  the  world. 
Her  mother  is  hopelessly  ill.  There  is  a  house  and  furniture, 
but  there  is  no  one  to  pay  the  rent  arid  buy  food.  There  is 
a  man,  our  Daniel  here,  who  is  ready,  willing,  and  able  to 
take  care  of  Mercy  and  her  mother,  if  he  can  have  the  right. 
But  the  objection  is  that  Mercy  ought  not  to  marry  so  soon 
after  the  death  of  her  people. 

"These  young  folks,"  the  brave  lady  continued,  as  her 
husband  began  to  grow  uneasy,  "  should  have  married  long 
ago.  Mercy's  sister,  Mrs.  Errington,  was  very  ambitious. 
She  was  proud  of  Mercy^  and  hoped  to  bring  about  some 
great  match.  I  think  her  opposition  kept  Daniel  and  Mercy 
apart.  The  fact  of  her  death  ought  not  to  continue  what  her 
life  began-— that  is,  the  estrangement  of  these  lovets.  I 


276  DANIEL  TltENTWORTHY. 

knew  Harmon.     His  last  thoughts  were  as  to  th?  welfare  of 
his  dear  ones. 

"  There  now  remains  but  one  thing  to  do.  These  young 
folks  ought  to  get  married  right  off — this  afternoon.  Daniel 
owns  a  house  on  West  Washington  street.  The  couple  also 
have  the  house  at  Clinton  street.  He  can  get  a  place  as 
proof-reader  again,  he  says,  as  men  are  very  scarce.  Now 
what  do  you  think  of  that,  John  Trentworthy  ?  What  do 
you  think  of  it,  William  Trentworthy  ?  What  do  you  think 
of  it,  Edson  Trenton  ?  Never  mind,  Daniel — keep  still, 
Mercy."  , 

That  was  a  hard  place  for  Mercy.  Her  pride  revolted. 
Mile.  Bismarcks  often  put  other  people  in  bad  fixes. 

"  I  doubt  if  Daniel  wants  me,"  she  said,  and  grew  sick  at 
heart,  and  lost  all  pride.  Her  great  eyes  turned  upon  him. 
"  Whithersoever  thou  goest" — so  said  the  eyes. 

John  Trentworthy  rose.  "  I  was  named  after  Daniel's 
father,"  he  said.  u  It  was  supposed  that  my  christening  was 
worth  a  million  to  me.  It  did  bring  me  a  thousand  dollars, 
which  are  at  the  basis  of  my  present  moderate  means.  I  am 
Daniel's  kinsman — proud  I  am  to  find  him  so  likely  a  man. 
I  shall  accept  Mercy  as  my  kinswoman.  I  do  not  see  how  it 
can  be  delayed." 

William  Trentworthy  rose  :  "  If  I  can't  marry  Mercy  ray- 
self,"  he  said,  "  I  want  my  cousin  to  marry  her." 

Edson  Trenton  rose:  "My  dear,"  he  said,  like  a  well 
disciplined  husband,  "  I  will  trust  you  with  these  things.  I 
suppose  there  is  no  hope  of  Mercy  waiting  to  be  my  second 
wife." 

"  They  will  be  married  this  afternoon,"  the  officer  of  the 
day  declared.  And  this  was  the  edict  of  the  council  she  had 
convened. 

The  lovers  could  only  protest  that  they  ought  to  have  been 
heard. 

"Daniel,"  said  Mrs.   Trenton,   "run  over  to  the  prairie. 


THE  NECESSITIES  VS.  THE  PROPRIETIES.       277 

Do  you  see  where  that  long,  white  board  is  ?  That  is  the 
license-clerk's  family.  Get  him  to  write  a  license.  Here  is 
the  money.  He  will  be  glad  to  earn  a  fee.  Go,  now,  Mercy 
is  watching  you.  She  will  marry  William  if  you  fool  with 
her  any  longer.  She's  been  too  patient  already.  Edson,  go 
for  our  minister.  He  is  at  home." 

Could  Daniel  tarry  ? 

Queer  weddings,  that  afternoon,  all  over  the  city.  Robert 
Collyer  will  tell  you  of  the  piece  of  sausage  that  was  a  wed- 
ding feast,  and  will  smack  his  lips  unctuously  at  the  reminis- 
cence. 

The  clever  chroniclers  of  small  talk  have  recorded  how  an 
empty  parlor  was  converted  into  a  handsome  room,  not  many 
blocks  away,  only  the  day  before  this  Friday.  The  refugees 
marched  forth  to  their  barracks.  A  soap  box  covered  with 
crimson  cloth  was  put  in  the  unsightly  grate-hole.  On  this 
a  slop  jar,  covered  with  crimson.  On  this  a  fine  stag's  head, 
left  by  an  out-going  refugee.  Branches  hung  everywhere. 
A  pair  of  library  steps  with  a  sheet  around  them  for  the 
altar.  A  scarlet  cloth  in  front,  with  the  illuminated  motto : 
"Cast  Thy  Care  Upon  Him,  for  He  Careth  for  Thee."  A 
large  Bible  and  a  prayer-book  on  top  of  the  altar.  Four 
buggy  cushions  wrapped  in  an  afghan  for  hassock  on  which 
to  kneel.  A  table  with  vines  at  edge,  displaying  pasteboard 
presents,  with  monograms  in  lead  pencil.  The  wedding  veil 
of  the  married  sister.  The  groom  in  borrowed  clothes,  the 
bridesmaid,  and  the  first  groomsman — the  latter  only  five 
feet  nine,  in  the  dress  suit  of  a  man  not  burnt  out  who  was 
six  feet  two.  Forty  guests,  all  burnt  out.  A  prayer  that 
carried  all  toward  God.  Warm  biscuits  and  cold  water,  of 
which  all  ate. 

This  wedding  would  have  been  an  affair  costing  at  least 
$5,000  but  for  the  fire.  The  twain  must  travel  toward 
friends,  and  must  marry  at  once.  Careful  observance  of  all 
form.  The  kernel  of  ceremony  fertile  in  the  ashes  of  the 
hour. 


278  AAN1EL  THENTWORT11Y. 

Therefore,  dwell  upon  the  good  fortune  of  Daniel  anil 
Mercy,  who  had  house  and  friends  on  every  hand.  A  sud- 
den garnishing  of  the  Trenton  mansion,  Presbyterian  wed- 
ding in  the  parlor,  a  wedding  tour  by  carriage  to  the  Clinton 
street  house,  making  great  haste  to  get  the  carriage  back  to 
Fullerton  avenue  before  darkness  and  bayonets  set  in. 

At  Clinton  street,  the  servant  well  supplied  with  charity 
lood,  and  half  mad  with  joy  at  the  return  of  the  lost.  The 
old  lady  much  improved  by  sight  of  her  chickens,  which 
have  been  jealously  guarded.  The  rooster  put  in  the  pot  for 
the  wedding  feast  of  Saturday. 

It  is  a  week.  The  event  has  passed  by.  Mankind  is  fair- 
ly adjusted.  The  fire  is  already  twice  told.  Men  give  them- 
selves to  the  stern  problem  of  existence,  and  will  forever  read 
no  tale  of  the  calamity. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

"WITH    CHARITY  FOB    ALL."      , 

NEARLY  fifteen  }rears  have  passed.  The  spring  has  been 
blessed  with  frequent  rains :  the  lawns  of  the  city  are  green. 
It  is  Chicago. 

Men  stand  before  her  Board  of  Trade,  and  looking  upward 
toward  the  clock,  declare  that  their  hearts  leap  within  them. 
Gazing  toward  the  white  clouds,  the  sight-seer  vows  that 
though  he  have  gone  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  that  office  build- 
ing yonder  is  the  grandest  and  most  beautiful  he  has  seen. 

Down  Michigan  avenue  the  throngs  of  carriages  progress 
almost  as  multitudinous  as  on  that  day  of  dust  and  ashes. 
Out  Washington  boulevard  the  stone  flagging  glints  as  far 
as  Garfield  Park.  Upon  the  northern  lake  shore,  promises 
of  an  avenue  that  shall  eclipse  all  other  glories  of  the  city. 


"  WITH  CHARITY  FOR  ALL."  279 

Population,  a  Million  in  Cook  County. 

On  Clinton,  a  paved  street.  Where  Mary  played  the  Trau- 
merei,  the  sound  of  men,  pounding.  Factories,  factories. 
Vacant  lots,  where  once  were  well-to-do  residences.  The 
householders  who  abode  there,  now  all  two  miles  west. 

New  numbers  on  Fullerton  avenue.  But  Mrs.  Trenton 
lives  not  far  away,  her  love  for  trees  and  lawn  well  gratified. 
Still  a  magnificent  lady,  with  a  heart  for  young  men.  "  They 
make  our  city.  I  have  always  gone  to  some  trouble  to  help 
them,"  she  will  say.  And  not  only  Daniel — but  two  gene- 
rations— two  Sunday-school  classes — are  about  her  heart,  to 
bless  her,  and  to  declare  her  greatness  among  women. 

At  the  Trentworthy's  of  Noble  street — Noble  street  no 
more.  Two  palaces  on  Michigan  avenue  stand  side  by  side. 
There  live  the  two  brothers.  And  how  comes  this  great 
wealth  ?  It  comes  of  invention.  In  the  year  1872  the  city 
was  rebuilt.  John  Trentworthy  perfected  a  machine  to  lift 
mortar.  It  came  into  instant  use.  He  next  made  a  machine 
to  sandpaper  wood.  The  firm  of  John,  William  &  Daniel 
Trentworthy  was  established.  It  flourished.  John  took  a 
trip  to  Leadville.  The  firm  bought  a  mine.  The  profit  at 
selling  was  $1,500,000. 

Daniel  Trentworthy  prefers  the  West  Side.  His  mansion 
there,  his  cousins  tell  him,  is  out  of  place.  He  ought  to  be 
on  Prairie  avenue.  Several  of  his  neighbors  are  moving  that 
way.  He  has  just  pulled  down  one  of  their  houses  and  added 
the  ground  to  his  lawn.  It  makes  a  New  Yorker  smile.  "A 
very  vulgar  thing,"  the  New  Yorker  avers.  "  Eighteen  feet 
front  are  enough.  Parlors  are  entirely  out  of  place." 

But  fine  grounds  will  always  evoke  admiration.  As  in  the 
Hebrew  king's  time,  they  will  make  envy. 

"  Will  you  sell  your  house  ?  We  want  to  enlarge  our 
hotel."  So  said  mine  host  at  Washington. 

"  Send  me  the  price  of  your  hotel,"  answered  the  irate 
widow.  "  I  wish  to  enlarge  my  cabbage  patch." 


280  DANIEL  TRENTWOUT11Y. 

A  grand  plan — this  of  Daniel  Trentworthy's.  It  makes 
us  wish  we  were  all  rich.  How  many  children  has  he  V 
Five  ?  Well,  well.  Have  any  of  them  black  eyes  ?  Yes, 
there  are  two  daughters — the  prettiest  little  girls  to  be  seen 
hereabouts.  There  were  six.  One  is  at  Graceland. 

Well — Mrs.  Trentworthy  ;  how  does  she  bear  her  years  ? 

"  Gracious  !  "  the  gossiping  neighbor  tells  you,  "  she  looks 
under  thirty.  She  has  always  been  the  handsomest  woman 
any  one  ever  saw.  But  she  is  a  real  home  body.  She  has  a 
great  deal  to  do.  That  conservatory  there,  and  sending 
flowers  to  sick  people — that  takes  her  time." 

"Where  are  they  to-day?     The  house  is  closed." 

"  Yes ;  this  is  Decoration  Day.  They  will  be  at  Grace- 
land,  where  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trentworthy's  people  are  buried." 

"Mrs.  Holebroke — is  she  living  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  She  died  the  first  year  they  came  to  the  big 
house.  Mr.  Trentworthy  went  to  California  and  got  his 
parents'  bodies  and  got  Mrs.  Holebroke's  husband's — Mercy's 
father's  body — and  they  have  the  finest  lot  in  Graceland." 

To  Graceland  we  must  go.  Yes,  that  is  a  magnificent 
obelisk.  There  are  the  headstones. 

"  John  and  Martha  Trentworthy." 

"  Robert  and  Harriet  Holebroke." 

"  John  Fullmer  Trentworthy,  infant  son." 

"Mary  Errington." 

How  sweet  is  this  home  of  the  dead  to-day  !  "  Come  all 
ye  that  are  weary  and  heavy  laden  and  I  will  give  you  rest." 
Holiness  to  the  Lord,  and  nobler  thoughts  to  man.  It  is  a 
sacred  day  with  this  living  man  and  woman  and  his  hand- 
some brood. 

There  they  stand,  reverent,  filled  with  thoughts  that  will 
have  utterance. 

It  seems  to  Daniel  Trentworthy  that  he  has  never  been 
grateful  enough  to  Mercy.  There  is  something  on  his  mind. 
There  couies  to  him  a  desire  of  self-abnegation. 


"  WITH  (JHAR1TY  FOR  ALL."  281 

The  man  and  the  woman  are  gazing  on  that  last  headstone, 
"  Mary  Errington,"  which  stands  alone,  where  Mercy  has 
piled  the  flowers  as  high  as  they  lie  on  the  little  one's  grave. 
She  cries,  as  she  always  cries,  when  she  touches  this  head- 
stone of  the  gray  woman. 

The  man  alone  knows  the  buried  Mary's  secret.  Never 
has  he  spoken  of  the  matter  to  Mercy.  Never  has  he  heard 
a  whisper  that  Ralph  Errington  did  not  go  to  his  death  by 
heedless  inattention  to  his  wife's  warnings.  Never  have  the 
man  and  wife  spoken  of  it. 

Has  she  not  been  a  noble  wife,  yonder,  crying  at  Mary's 
grave  ?  Has  she  ever  denied  him  aught  that  would  make 
him  glad? 

His  eye  rests  on  Harmon's  name.  What  would  Harmon 
do? 

It  is  settled. 

"Mercy,"  the  man  says,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Yes,  Daniel." 

"  You  know  my  fears,  the  Friday  night  before  the  fire — • 
before  Harmon  and  Ralph  died." 

"  Yes,  Daniel."     The  face  was  full  of  pain. 

"  Well,  pardon  me  for  speaking.  But  it  seems  to  me  I 
may  have  been  mistaken." 

A  glad  light  leaps  to  her  eyes.  She  falls  toward  him.  It 
is  so  sudden. 

"  I  always  thought  you  were  mistaken,"  she  whispered. 
"Oh,  Daniel,  she  was  my  sister.  I  loved  her  so." 

They  pass  from  the  scene.  There  is  nothing,  definite  or 
indefinite,between  those  parent  hearts  any  more. 

"  Harmon  would  have  done  it,"  says  the  father  to  himself. 

"  I  did  not  deserve  to  be  so  blest,"  sobs  the  mother. 

Bringing  up  the  party,  two  wee  children,  hand  in  hand — 
a  picture  for  an  artist. 

The  one,  in  ecstacy  :     "  Oh  !  see  what  lots  of  people  ?  " 

The  other :     "  Oh  !  see  zose  pitty  f  "owers  !  " 


THE   IMMORTAL; 


OUSTIE    OIF1    THE 

(L'lMMORTEL). 

By   ALPHONSE    DAUDET. 
THE    SUCCESS    OF    THE    YEAR. 


"  With  as  much  vigor  of  touch  as  his  frieiid  Zola— to  whose  school  he  be- 
longs— Daudet  is  too  refined  ever  to  be  coarse.  His  acute  sense  of  artistic  har- 
mony leads  him  rather  to  veil  the  '  sores  '  of  human  nature,  which  his  taciturn 
confrere  revels  in  exposing." 

This  paragraph  from  a  Paris  letter  in  the  London  Bookseller  is 
one  key  to  Daudet's  art;  the  other  is  his  ineffable  humor.  No 
other  writer  now  living  seems  to  derive  so  thorough  and  so 
subtle  amusement  from  the  outwardly  uninteresting  affairs  of 
daily  life. 

Daudet's  manner  is  a  continual  reminder  of  Dickens,  but  the 
Frenchman's  literary  training  and  discerning  taste  give  him  a 
power  of  selection  which  Dickens  did  not  possess.  Decidedly, 
Daudet  is  the  most  accomplished  writer  of  his  day,  even  if  some 
may  hold  him  not  the  greatest. 

Of  "THE  IMMOKTAL,"  his  latest  work,  much  has  been  said 
on  both  sides,  the  judgment  being  determined  generally  by  the 
position  of  the  critic  towards  the  French  Academy  ;  but  the  fact 
that  133,000  copies  of  the  book  were  sold  in  Paris  before  it  had 
been  on  the  stands  a  month,  is  sufficient  guarantee  that  the 
Parisian  public  find  it  interesting. 

In  this  tain  the  celebrated  French  novelist  "dissects  '  that  august  and 
ancient  body,  the  "Academic  Fra^aise,"  and  he  wields  the  scalpel  (or  shall 
we  rather  say  the  pen  ?)  in  a  manner  that  must  be  positively  painful  to  the  dig- 
nified gentlemen  who  compose  the  famous  company  of  "immortals."  This 
book  has  made  a  great  stir  in  France,  and  everybody  in  the  capital  on  the 
Seine  is  trying  to  place  the  real  names  under  the  names  of  the  persons  who 
appear  in  the  satire.  To  all  who  relish  wit  that  is  keen  as  a  sword,  descriptions 
that  are  as  exact  as  a  photograph,  and  stories  that  are  extremely  interesting, 
this  book  is  sincerely  commended. — Detroit  Commercial  Advertiser. 


Beautifully  Illustrated  by  E.  Bayard.   Cloth,  $1.00;   paper,  50o. 

RAND,  McNALLY  &  CO,,  Publishers, 

148   to  154  Monroe  Street,  Chicago. 
323  Broadway,  New  York. 


The  Greatest  Success  of  the  Day. 


THE  IRONMASTER 


MA!TRE  DE  FORGES.) 


Handsomely  printed,  with  many  fine  full-page  illustrations  on  wood. 
Cloth,  $1.00;  Paper,  50  cents. 

This  novel,  which  raised  its  author  from  obscurity  to  sudden 
fame,  which  has  been  translated  into  all  civilized  languages, 
and  which  has  been  dramatized  under  many  titles  (notably  ' '  The 
Forgemaster"  and  "Lady  Claire "),  is  the  most  pronounced  suc- 
cess in  modern  literature.  One  hundred  and  forty-six  editions  of 
the  book  have  been  sold  in  France,  and  the  author  has  realized 
from  it  some  $75,000  in  royalties. 

"It  is  undoubtedly  a  story  of  admirably  sustained  interest, 
skillfully  told  in  graceful  yet  forcible  language.  The  strongly 
marked  characters  develop  themselves  naturally,  both  in  their 
language  and  their  actions.  The  book,  moreover,  unlike  the 
general  run  of  French  novels,  conveys  a  sound  moral.  It  chastises 
the  malice  which  is  born  of  envy,  and  establishes  the  folly  of  that 
selfish  pride  which  blinds  its  possessor  to  all  consideration  for  the 
commoner  clay  of  humanity.  It  shows  anew  how  needful  it  is 
that  husbands  and  wives  alike  should  study  each  other's  characters 
before  marriage,  and  it  enforces,  in  convincing  language,  the  oft- 
repeated  lesson,  that  a  woman  should  never  trifle  with  the  affec- 
tion of  the  man  to  whom  she  is  mated  for  life." 

"It  has  a  strong,  bold  plot,  and  works  up  to  an  obviouB  moral."—  New 
Orleans  Picayune. 

"It  is  a  strong  novel,  and  one  that  will  bear  reading  a  second  time."— 
Nashville  American. 

RAND,  McNALLY  &  CO,,  Publishers,     "• 

148  to  154  Monroe  Street,  CHICAGO. 
.HEW  YORK  :  323  Broadway. 

Send  for  complete  list  of  our  "  GLOBE  LIBBAHY  "  publications. 


ZOLA'S  MASTERPIECE 


DRRAM, 

(Le  Reve.) 

BY   EMILE    ZOLA. 

Authorized  translation,  done  under  the  author's  supervision  by 
Mrs.  Eliza  E.  Chase. 


•  This,  the  latest  work  of  the  great  leader  of  the  modern  "  realistic  school," 
betrays  the  same  powerful  hand,  the  same  delicately  analytical  touch  that  huve 
made  his  previous  works  popular  in  spite  of  their  drawbacks;  but  it  evidences 
also  a  selective  taste  which  he  has  been  supposed  to  lack.  His  wonderful 
realism,  which,  when  used  in  the  portrayal  of  vice  and  crime,  Is  revolting,  when 
turned  to  the  study  of  innocence  and  purity  becomes  singularly  sweet  and 
fascinating. 

"The  Dream"  is  written  in  the  great  novelist's  happiest,  strongest  vein, 
and  no  admirer  of  Zola  can  afford  to  leave  it  unread;  while,  being  perfectly  clean 
and  pure  in  tone,  it  is  a  proper  book  to  place  in  the  hands  of  any  young  girl. 


"We  do  not  wish  to  have  given  the  Impression  that  those  who  particularly  like 
In  Zola  his  characteristic  genius  need  not  read  his  book.  They  would  make  a  great 
mistake  not  to  do  so.  In  the  double  transformation  of  Angellque,  of  a  perverse 
person  becoming  a  devout  one,  then  of  a  saint  turning  Into  a  woman,  psychology 
is  shown  in  every  line.  In  all  the  descriptive  parts  Zola's  peculiar  power  is  betrayed 
In  tne  minutest  details."— LE  FIGABO  (Paris). 


Send  for  complete  lists  of  the  GLOBE  LIBRARY,— "  The  handsomest  of 
all  the  cheap  libraries." 

RAND,  McNALLY  &  CO,,  Publishers, 

HEW  TORE  STORE,  148  to  154  Monroe  St.,  CHICAGO. 

323  Broadway. 


MAPS  and  GUIDES  to  Every  Country  and  to  Every  Important  City  In  the 
World ;  Railway  and  Engineering  Books,  etc. 


RELFORETS 
MAGAZINE 

EDITED   BY  DONN    P1ATT. 

BELFORD'S  MAGAZINE,  published  monthly,  is  devoted  to  poli- 
tics, fiction,  poetry,  general  literature,  science  and  art. 

In  politics  the  Magazine  will  give  an  independent  support  to 
the  Democratic  party  and  to  the  present  Administration. 

It  will  advocate  the  extinguishment  of  the  surplus  by  a  reform 
of  the  present  iniquitous  and  burdensome  tariff  in  the  direction  of 
free  trade  or  of  a  tariff  for  revenue  only. 

The  department  of  fiction  will  be  exceptionally  full.  Instead  of 
a  serial  story,  dragging  its  length  through  several  months,  and 
exhausting  the  patience  of  the  reader,  a  complete  novel  will  be  pub- 
lished in  each  number,  and  each  issue  will  also  contain  one  or  more 
short  stories  complete. 

Col.  Donn  Piatt  is  ssisted  by  a  staff  of  sub-editors,  and  also  a 
large  number  of  able  c  •  itributors,  among  whom  are : 


DAVID  A.  WELLEf 

HON.  FRANK  H.        HD, 

PROF.   W.  Q.  Su.,,NER, 

J.  S.  MOORE  (Parsee  Merchant), 

HON.  JOHN  0.  CARLISLE, 

HENRY  MATTER  SON, 

HENRY  GEORGE, 

JULIAN  HAWTHORNE, 

EDGAR  SALTUS, 

JOHN  JAMES  PIATT, 

THOS.  6.  SHEARMAN, 


GEN.  H.   V.  BOYNTON, 

SARAH  B.  M.  PIATT, 

EDGAR  FAWCETT, 

JOEL  BENTON, 

ELLA   WHEELER  WILCOX, 

REV.  GEORGE  LORIUER, 

E.  HERON-ALLEN, 

COATES  KINNEY, 

JAMES  WHITCOMB  RILEY  (Falcon), 

SOULE  SMITH, 

GERTRUDE  GARRISON. 


BELFORD'S  MAGAZINE  is  a  first-r'ass  medium  for  advertising, 
as  the  publishers  guarantee  a  bona-fiae  circulation  of  at  least  70,000 
copies  per  month. 

Price,  $2.5O  a  Year,  or  25  cents  per  Number. 


BELFORD,  CLARKE  &  Co.,  PUBLISHERS, 

CHICAGO.       NEW  YORK.          SAN  FRANCISCO. 


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DANIEL  TRENTWORTHY  CHICAGON 


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